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Bright Days In 


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Sunny Lands 


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WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 


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BY 


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A. VAN DOREN HONEYMAN 


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PLAINFIELD, NEW JERSEY 


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HONEYMAN AND COMPANY 


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1904 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Heceivea 

NOV 15 1904 

Copyri£(iT tntry 
cuss CC XXc. Noi 
COPY B.^^ 



Copyright, 1904, by 
A. V. D. HONEYMAN 



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THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO ALL WITH 

WHOM THE AUTHOR HAS HAD SWEET FELLOWSHIP 

IN FOREIGN LANDS 



**And others came* Desires and Adora.iions ; 
Winged Persuasions and Veiled Destinies ; 
Splendors and GtoomSf and glimmering incarnations 
Of Hopes and Fears, and t<=u}ilight Fantasies ; 
And Sorro'W, <=a)ith her family of Sighs ; 
And Pleasure, blind ^ith tears, led by the gleam 

Of her olpn dying smile instead of eyes. 
Came in slo%> pomp : the mo'bing pomp might seem 
Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream/' 

— Shelley's ^'Adonais* 




PREFACE. 



HALIBURTON says, quaintly, that "the bee, 
though it finds every rose has a thorn, comes 
back loaded with honey from his rambles." 
With him, the Author believes in extracting all the 
honey possible out of the thorny roses of foreign 
bloom. Why not ? Why use only the eyes and not the 
imagination? Old and sober-minded Doctor Johnson 
laid down the principle that " the use of traveling is 
to regulate imagination by reality, and, instead of 
thinking how things may be, to see them as they are." 
All true, but if one does not find things as he supposes 
them to be, what then ? The right spirit will take things 
as they are, and will love them for their own sake. 

There are always thorns, if one looks for them, to 
be met v/ith in one's experiences in foreign lands, 
but also a vast amount of sweetness. Inconven- 
iences one must expect; some unhandsome things 
also; but in place of discontent he should substitute 
enthusiasm and wholesome imagination. Then, what 
might otherwise prove a task becomes the most delight- 
ful of recreations. A calm mind, even temper, and 
plentiful bonhomie^ will always serve to enrich and 



vi PREFACE 

ennoble the pursuit of knowledge in any direction or 
locality where it is sought. 

It is needless to say to those who have read the 
Author's " Bright Days in Merrie England " that this 
work is intended to be a companion volume to that. 
It aims at nothing higher than to interest the reader in 
places which, with some exceptions, are a trifle out of 
the ordinary lines of tourist-travel. It is neither critic 
nor " guide," but describes in a plain way a few of those 
outdoor pictures made by Nature and by Man, which so 
delight with their glowing colors and charm by their 
historical associations. 

A. V. D. H. 



CONTENTS. 



I. BY THE PILLARS OF HERCULES 

11. GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 

III. THE CITY OF SEVILLE . 

IV. THE MOSQUE AT CORDOVA . 
V. MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 

VI. THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 



VII. THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 103 



VIII. THE " WHITE CITY " OF SICILY . 

IX. THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 

X. GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA . 

XL IN THE " ETERNAL CITY " . 

XIL THE HOME OF ST. FRANCIS 

XIII. PERUGIA AND SIENA 

XIV. TORCELLO— " MOTHER OF VENICE 
XV. " THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " . 

XVI. THE PASSION PLAY OF 190Q . 

XVII. GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 

XVIII. DAYS IN HAVANA .... 

XIX. TO "JOY IN THE WATER '^ . 

XX. TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW . 

XXI. SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 

XXII. TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA . 

APPENDIX (I and II) ... . 
INDEX TO PROPER NAMES . 



PAGE. 
II 

62 
90 



129 

147 

164 
i8a 
200^ 
219 

242 

259^ 
276 
298 
329^ 
340 
354 
382 
40a 
417 
423 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



On the Anapo, Sicily . . . (Frontispiece) 

Fagot-carrier in Tangier . . . 

Court of Lions, Alhambra, Granada 

View of Seville, from the Giralda Tower 

Alcazar Gardens, Seville .... 

Dancers in " Los Seises," Seville Cathedral 

Interior of the Mosque at Cordova . 

The Royal Palace in Madrid . . . 

The Escorial, near Madrid . . 

Monte Carlo 

A Sicilian Cart 

Cloisters, adjoining Cathedral, Monreale 

Temple of Concord, Girgenti . 

Augustus Caesar, in Boyhood . 

Statue of St. Francis, Assisi . 

The Body of Santa Chiara, Assisi 

The Portiuncula of St. Francis, Assisi . 

Interior of Siena Cathedral . 

Torcello — Cathedral and Campanile 

Bronze Horses of Nero, Venice 

The Village of Oberammergau . 

Anton Lang as " Christus " in Passion Play 

Crucifixion Scene in Passion Play of 1900 

General View of Orizaba .... 

Sacrificial Stone of Aztecs, City of Mexico 

Palace of President Diaz at Chapultepec 

Palace of Cortez, Coyoacan 

" Miraculous Picture " of " Our Lady of Guadalupe " 

Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, from Puebla 

The Pyramid of Cholula .... 



of 1900 



PAGE. 

16 
36 
48 
56 
60 
64 
76 
92 
120 

146 
168 
184 
200 
214 
218 
2Z(i 
256 
270 
282 



296 
348 



364 
384 
388 

394 
400 
410 



BRIGHT DAYS IN 
SUNNY LANDS 



Bright Days in Sunny Lands, 



I._BY THE PILLARS OF HERCULES. 

HAVING PASSED into or out of the Mediter- 
ranean on several occasions without having 
had the good fortune to see Tangier, 
except by glass from a steamer deck at lang range, 
I was glad when "the hour struck twelve" to put foot 
on the Morocco shore. Tangier is always visible in 
clear weather as one passes by the Pillars of Hercules. 
At nearly the same moment Gibraltar appears at the 
foot of its great rock. One cannot conceive, without 
a visit to each, what vast differences exist between the 
two cities, in sights, people, language and everything 
else. 

To reach the Pillars of Hercules from New York 
one must, of course, cross the great Atlantic. If an 
Englishman, he must — at least he probably will — take 
ship at London, and spend several days on the briny 
deep. From America the journey will consume about 
nine days. Those nine days are to some tedious, to 
others a boon thoroughly appreciated. For myself, it 
is the sea which really tempts me annually to visit for- 
eign shores, and I am especially fond of the almost 
direct easterly passage from New York, which takes 
one within sight of the clean, stately and picturesque 
Azores, and then makes port a thousand miles further 
than Sao Miguel. I know of nothing so exhilarating 



12 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

and inspiring as the blue waves and the gently rolling 
motion of a huge ship, the daily varying skies and the 
delightful, ozone-full air, with all the other concomi- 
tants of a first-class passage on a secure and steady 
"leviathan of the deep." Even if the vessel be un- 
steady, the motion is like a cradle-song, full of delight- 
fulness to mind and soul. 

The glorious, old, wrinkled sea! I have never once 
grown tired of it, and always pity the one ''who cannot 
woo the sparkling blue" with the zest and pleasure of 
a little child playing with its first doll. I love every 
mood in which the ocean finds itself and finds me, day 
after day. If to-day it be smooth as glass, glistening 
with sunbeams, peaceful and calm, I meditate on '' the 
sea of glass" that is about the Throne, and find zest 
and rest in a picture of eternal calm. If to-morrow 
its carpet of blue, purple, or green, rises and falls, 
wind-blown, its varying tints of infinitely greater 
glories than those of an Oriental rug, I love it all the 
more, for then I look upon it as a living creature of 
God, which, in due season, after its sportive play, will 
fall to sleep again, " a babe at rest on mother's 
breast." To-day I drink in the embracing winds that 
sweep over it, when the atmosphere is crammed with 
tonic, for I know that to-night the surges will rock 
me to rest in perpetual rhythm. If, to-day, the sea is a 
monster, disporting, to-morrow it may be so calm that 
it will have the silence of the Desert of Sahara, the si- 
lence of tenderest prayer. To-day let it moan as over 
the unnumbered dead, which the centuries have put 
to sleep within its deep, dark bosom; to-morrow one 
may not hear its voice, but shall feel its heart. To-day 
the restless tides run to and fro, finding, like the doves 
of the Ark, no resting place for their tired feet; to- 
morrow the waters shall be at peace, the doves on the 



BY THE PILLARS OF HERCULES 13 

fig trees, and the songs sung at the dawn as 
gentle as a mother's kiss. Let it be ever so much of 
a Hon to-day, whose power no man can tame; to-mor- 
row its exceeding gentleness will be that of a strotig 
man after sorrow, or of a brave woman after tears. 
Whether the sea be restful and silent, or restless and 
strong, it has its multifarious lessons and its never- 
ending glories. Nothing else visible in the whole 
wide world save those blue waters can be seen dai- 
ly clasping hands in every zone and eternally touching 
lips beneath every sky. Girdling the whole globe, 
the Creator has made the ocean everywhere beautiful 
and good. 

How often I have watched the morning sun come 
up in the east, when the whole vesture of the deep 
was a robe of silver. Then, at the noonhour, it had 
the color of lapis lazuli. In the evening the same 
sun, setting, kissed it with a " good-night," and the re- 
turn smile was a cloth of gold. Still later, a thousand 
phosphorescent sparks encrusted its inky dress with 
flashing diamonds. At all times of the day or night, 
looking down into that abyss below, how the inspira- 
tions gather; how one may dream of the seas' past 
aeons and its future eternities! Deep below those 
waves lie life and death together: the coral builders at 
work and men and women in their lasting sleep; liv- 
ing fishes and wrecks of ships; lofty mountains, deep 
valleys and deserts; sea mosses, shells and caverns; 
petrified forests and closed mouths of volcanoes. Yet 
the surface discloses not one of these things. As the 
great ship glides over the waters the human eye takes 
in neither sign of sorrow nor token of tomb. All geo- 
logical formations, vain human philosophies, old and 
new religions, past ages, futurities, are wrapped up 
in the salt seas' palm. That guards each secret as does 



14 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the eternal Sphynx. Every ideal, every real; every 
hope, every faith; lessons of reverence, courage, pa- 
tience, humility, bravery: these and a thousand vir- 
tues and glories spring to the mind out from the ever- 
lasting fountains every time one crosses the Atlantic 
or Pacific, and faces anew what is one of the most 
solemn and most majestic of all the mysteries of the 
earth. ' \ > 

All of which is by the way, but then it is the usual 
way by which to reach Gibraltar and Tangier. 

I couple these two cities only because of their 
commercial relation and geographical contiguity. The 
one guards the northern, while the other is not far 
distant from the southern, of the Pillars of Hercules. 
Only thirty-five miles of water between, yet what a 
mighty divide! Gibraltar is English, with just a dash 
of Moorish color to make it interesting. Tangier is 
wholly African and Oriental, with not one tinge of the 
European. 

Everybody likes to put foot in Gibraltar for a lit- 
tle while, if only to see the rock fortification, whose 
name is everywhere a symbol for strength, but w^hich 
is no longer, I believe, considered impregnable. It 
is a lordly limestone mass, rising up abruptly one 
thousand three hundred and ninety-six feet above the 
sea. At its base lies a quiet, peaceful, interesting, busy 
town of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants, one- 
fourth of whom are English soldiers. ** The very im- 
age of an enormous lion," said Thackeray, in describ- 
ing that rock, " crouched between the Atlantic and the 
Mediterranean, and set there to guard the passage for 
its British mistress." Since 1704 it has been in Brit- 
ish hands, although but a mile away, connected by a 
half-mile-wide isthmus, is Spanish territory, which is 
occupied by a small garrison of troops, looking help- 



BY THE PILLARS OF HERCULES 15 

less and hopeless before the sturdier, better fed, better 
paid and better officered " red jackets/' who man the 
Gibraltar citadel. 

The sights of Gibraltar are mixed, somewhat 
Spanish, somewhat Moorish, but, as to the tradespeo- 
ple, whose shops are away from the open markets 
near the wharves, predominantly English. In scenery 
there is something of the tropical, for cacti, fig trees, 
myrtle and almond trees are on the rocky slopes, 
palm trees in the parks and Barbary apes on the hill- 
sides. Real northern rabbits and partridges harbor 
in the outlying thickets, and wild flowers bloom on 
the crags in great profusion. The streets are unusual- 
ly clean, the hotels admirable, beggars are not to be 
seen, and the general air is one of sensible business 
activity. Down in the bay are always anchored 
merchant ships and vessels carrying passengers from 
England, Germany, France and America to the Med- 
iterranean. Opposite, in a direction nearly due west, 
is Algeciras, a Spanish town, half the size of Gibraltar, 
whose chief trade is in cork from the forests of Anda- 
lusia. Directly south is the extreme northerly end of 
Africa, eight miles distant only, the one "unknown 
continent" of the world. A few hours will exhaust 
the "lions" of Gibraltar, which are: The galleries in 
the rock; the signal tower; the stalactite cave of St. 
Michael, and Europa Point. All these have been so 
often described that I pass them by. After these, in 
interest, comes the Alameda (the public gardens), laid 
out tastefully with numberless tropical plants and 
shrubs, but occupying little ground, for ground is not 
plentiful in this restricted territory. 

Tangier, however, is a spot too curious for any 
traveler who may be in Gibraltar to pass by. Never 
were two populated places in near juxtaposition so 



J 



16 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Utterly different from each other. You know you are 
in Europe when in Gibraltar; you are still more posi- 
tive you are in Africa when in Tangier. Two hours 
travel by sea, and you are almost in another world. 
The general appearance of Tangier from the ocean, 
as you enter its port, is like that of Jaffa. All the build- 
ings are whitewashed, or bluewashed, and their fiat 
sides, with equally flat though occasionally domed 
roofs, at once remind you that you are approaching 
a land where the heat of the day is only to be allevi- 
ated by thick walls, few windows, narrow streets and 
by keeping wholly in the shade. 

I saw a sight in the harbor, from the steamer, 
which made me shudder and yet which must have 
been less cruel than it seemed. Small boats with five 
or six cattle on each were being rowed, or towed, over 
the shallow water to a freight steamer, on which they 
were to be loaded. When they arrived beside the 
steamer, a derrick and crane were set at work, and the 
cattle were raised high up and swung into the ship 
by their horns. Their whole weight when suspended 
in mid-air was sustained by the horns. They did not 
struggle, for they could not. I was told — it may have 
been a fable, but I could believe it possible — that now 
and then the animals were dehorned by the practice 
and fell into the sea before they could be embarked! 
The ugly, dark-skinned old Moors who superintended 
the operation may have had some spark of feeling 
in them for the comfort of these animals, but the ex- 
hibition did not prove it. 

We landed by boats, as in most African harbors, 
and these were rowed by semi-naked men to a larger 
pier, up which we scrambled by a staircase, and then 
walked a quarter of a mile to the shore, where a cus- 
tom-house is established, the collectors of which, who 




Fagot-carrier in Tangier. 



BY THE PILLARS OF HERCULES 17 

sat before it crosslegged, looked like members of a 
Jewish Sanhedrin. The beggars begin to meet the 
traveler at this spot and it takes grit and gestures to 
shake them off; they cease not their importunities un- 
til you are safely in the hotel. 

Tangier is on a hill, but is built down to the water's 
edge. It has no wide streets, no carts, no wagons, 
but an abundance of filth and smells similar to Jeru- 
salem. First impressions are wholly against one's re- 
maining there over an hour or two. But when you 
have once wound around and up the first and steep 
alley from the seashore, suddenly you find yourself 
at what seems to be the back door, but for all practical 
purposes is the entrance door, to as fine a hotel as 
there is in this quarter of the world. The '' Hotel Con- 
tinental " was a wonder to me from the hour I entered 
it to the hour I left it. How such a large, comfortable, 
clean, up-to-date, deHghtful European hostelry could 
be located amid the squalor, dirt, beggars, and all the 
other concomitants of Mohammedan outdoor and in- 
door life, I could not understand. But there it was, 
sweet and fair, proving that it is possible even in a 
modern Jericho to have the comforts, if not luxuries, 
of a genuine inn, such as compose the mind and rest 
the soul. From the ocean-front windows of this hotel 
the scene over the bay is always one of tranquillity and 
pleasureableness. From the city side, however, the 
view is of one anomalous medley of donkeys, donkey 
boys, street venders, beggars and general depravity. 

As soon as possible I strolled out of the back hotel 
entrance and pushed my way among strangely cos- 
tumed people, carrying queer burdens on their heads, 
sometimes goatskins filled with water, but usually 
marketable articles, and followed the narrow, wind- 
ing way toward the centre of the city. It was a unique 



18 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

experience, even to one who has been in Damascus 
and Cairo. I thus walked entirely through the city to 
the market place, or general rendezvous of the wors-t 
specimens of the city; the mendicants, Arabs, Daho- 
meyans and pure negroes, who intermingled as freely 
as if they were brothers. It seemed at first sight to be 
merely a place for vagabonds of every description. But 
on returning to the centres of business, I found there 
were merchants sitting crosslegged in their small, 
square shops, many of them rated wealthy and *' in- 
fluential," and all well-dressed, polite and educated. 
There were no street lamps visible, and no drains. The 
streets were really but roughly paved alleys, and the 
smells were not as odorous as lily gardens. Every 
street view was interesting and curious, but here, as 
in other semi-oriental towns, nothing so impresses 
one as the market place, to which I have just referred.. 
That forms an immense square at the far south end of 
the city, where everybody congregates when they de- 
sire to buy of the meat and fruit products of Morocco, 
or to see real gypsy life among — well among almost 
every other kind of peoples except gypsies! 

I noticed at once that few are shod, except by 
Nature's covering. The legs and arms of the men are 
also usually bare, being brown or black according to 
their race. White people are rarely to be seen. Ugly 
dervishes in rags intermingle freely with fairer, veil- 
covered, white-robed women, who plod their way 
about, half afraid to be seen and half anxious to be 
noticed. Snake-charmers, jugglers, tambourine and 
guitar players, story-tellers and market-venders are 
intermixed everywhere with donkeys, that are carry- 
ing tremendous loads of hay, potatoes, fagots, or rub- 
bish of one kind or another, and jostle you on every 
hand. In walking about, it is a game of " take care '* 



BY THE PILLAES OF HERCULES 19 

and " look out " all the time lest you are trodden un- 
der foot. '' Balak! balak!" is the constant cry, which 
means '' Get out of the way!" Few pay attention to it, 
however, except the donkeys themselves, who push 
their noses around corners and among the people with 
deftness and dispatch. 

Tangier is a great place for swallows, for flies and 
for dogs, and I suppose these are what keep the place 
reasonably healthy! 

It is curious to see the contrast betv/een the rub- 
bish of the streets and the mendicants on the one 
hand, and the yellow-slippered, turbaned, solemn- 
faced, influential Moors, or the sour-visaged, wealthy 
Jews with black caftan and fez, on the other hand. The 
one spectacle is that of absolute depravity; the other is 
of pride and an attempt at luxurious dressing. I won- 
dered why the apparently clean and thrifty were will- 
ing to mingle with the dirty and abandoned classes in 
the same street day after day and year after year, but 
was told that Tangier has such a fascination for all na- 
tive classes alike that no one who has ever resided 
there will voluntarily leave it. Even my guide, John, 
an Englishman by blood but a Tangierite by birth, 
who spent his time mostly in Gibraltar and Spain be- 
cause it was more profitable for him to do so, told me 
that he would prefer to live in Tangier! I said to him: 
" There is no accounting for tastes," and he simply 
shrugged his shoulders. I asked him about the health 
of the people, for I expected a plague of some kind 
must break out in the city every few years at least. 
But he assured me that it was a peculiarly healthy 
place, and this the books declare. If so, it must be 
because of the fine general climate, and especially be- 
cause of the salt sea breezes, which invariably blow 
shoreward, and push all vile odors up toward the 



20 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

mountains, where Nature's laboratory takes care of 
them. 

The Great Mosque is a prominent building, but is 
not accessible, I believe, to any but Moslems. The city 
is walled, and has gates and towers, and this adds 
greatly to its picturesqueness. These gates are worthy 
of more than a passing notice. But the best thing to 
do, after a general perambulation of the chief streets, 
is to get upon a donkey's back and go along the sandy 
beach and then make a circuit over the edges of the 
desert back to the city. There is a real taste of the 
desert in it, and the views are extremely pleasing. 

I have not yet given as fully as I feel the curious 
impression made upon me by the cloaked figures in 
the streets: the aspect of the Jews and Mohamme- 
dans, v/hom one meets at every turn, especially at the 
little shops which line the main street, and also in un- 
expected byways. Byways all the streets are, narrow, 
crooked and illy-paved. Although queer specimens of 
humanity are everywhere — some horrible like mum- 
mies, many in rags; some painfully deformed, more 
full of weariness and sadness inexpressible — yet the 
Jews and Arabs predominate, and the better classes of 
them freely mingle with the general Moorish and 
semi-negro throng. Some of these Moors wear a dress 
as handsome as an Oriental potentate, and all the 
high-class Jews are in purple or other bright array. 
The caic of the Moor is the most becoming garment, 
and it is marvelous how it fits the wearer like a royal 
robe. It is snow-white, of silk or wool, with delicate 
stripes. It is first twisted round the turban, then falls 
down over the shoulders, goes around the waist, and 
descends toward the feet — simple, delicate, clean, at- 
tractive. The rich dress beneath only serves to set out 
its pure white spotlessness. Roman senators, you 



BY THE PILLAES OF HERCULES 21 

would say, out for an airing! The Jews wear a black 
cap, wide troupers, a dressing gown of gaudy colors, 
with red girdle and dainty yellow slippers. The Jew- 
ish women show more color still; yellow, carmine, 
blue, green, anything save black. The Moorish wo- 
men, as true Eastern Mohammedans, veil their faces 
and will not allow a European to see more than their 
eyes, and usually only one eye. 

Those little shops, a yard or so square in the open- 
ing, and only as deep and wide, where the seller sits 
all day long, crosslegged, and can hand out a piece 
of cloth, or lace, without moving from his fixed posi- 
tion, are always odd; it is difficult to get used to them. 
Such tiny places, and yet here they grow rich. Some 
sit there for hours without a customer, as motionless 
as the Sphynx. All are alike happy or unhappy, for 
to each "Allah is good," and they all expect to reach 
the same paradise where Mahomet dwells when their 
wearisome stay on earth is over. 

The white houses are practically all alike. In the 
nighttime they and the streets are exactly similar, for 
there are no lamps to Hghten shops or streets. It may 
not be dangerous, so far as life is concerned, to be out 
in Tangier after nightfall, but, unless it be a bright 
moonlight evening, one is as sure to become hopeless- 
ly lost within two squares of the hotel as if he were 
in the midst of the Great Desert. You then stumble 
over sleeping men and boys, who throw their mantles 
or rags under and about them, and get their rest un- 
der the stars of heaven, and it does not awaken them, 
though it may alarm the pedestrian. By night or by 
day there is no wagon, no carriage, no traveling street 
vender, only the quiet shuffling of barefooted, san- 
dalled or slippered people. Plenty of idlers and beg- 
gars, but no noise; though occasionally must be ex- 



22 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

cepted the cries of drivers of donkeys, who prod these 
animals and shout " Balak! " and so pursue their way. 
Out by the waterside is a long, winding road, 
which leads to the edge of the desert. Up this road 
come camels, strings of them, from Fez, the Morocco 
capital. To watch them come in gives you a slight 
foretaste of what the tedious journey over the desert 
to Fez is like. That Fez is " out of the world " could 
not be better illustrated than by the following from 
an American (St. Louis) newspaper of January, 1904, 
giving a conversation of the Sultan to a Commis- 
sioner of the Exposition at St. Louis, in v/hich the 
Sultan is thus quoted: " Here is $50,000. Take it 
and do what you please with it. I don't care whether 
you use it for the World's Fair or put it in your own 
pocket. I don't know where St. Louis is, except that 
it is somewhere in the United States, and I don't care. 
And please tell President Francis, whoever he is, to 
stop writing me letters about his Fair, as I am tired of 
getting them." Such a king ought to be worth cross- 
ing that desert of over a hundred miles to see. 



II._GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA. 

THE RAILWAY ride to Granada from Gibral- 
tar, although an all-day one, is not weari- 
some, because of the ever-changing scenes 
of plain, hill and mountain; of here a little desert 
wildness, and there both valley and upland fecundity 
of grass and Vv^heat; of here curious cacti and there 
large eucalyptus trees; while everywhere are fields of 
grain and an abundance of scarlet poppies. I am not 
sure that I ever saw such glorious poppies elsewhere 
as in southern Spain. Their rich, red hues, amid 
the green and gold of the grainfields, awakened, over 
and over, exclamations of delight. Somewhere I have 
read a little poem;, which I always connect with the 
railway ride to Granada, although " the silver sea " 
is not visible on that route: 

"In the East lies the garden of poppies— 

In the East by the silver sea; 
And, when summer is ripe and rosy, 

And hungrily hums the bee, 
As the sun comes hotly riding 

In his glittering, golden car, 
Faint, drowsy poppy odors 

Seem borne from the East afar. 

"They come from the garden of poppies; 

I may never see them more; 
But their beauty haunts the summer 

On even this sordid shore. 
Those rich and radiant poppies! 

An acre of sunset sown! 
An acre of rounded rainbows — 

Of opals' hearts, wide-blown!" 



24 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

As I entered Granada there was a bull-fight in pro- 
gress, and the large, stone bull-circus, or torro, was 
one of the first striking pictures I saw. Everywhere 
around the torro were donkeys and horses hitched to 
wagons, carts and dilapidated omnibuses of all de- 
scriptions, the same in which the country people had 
come to town to see the performance. The way from 
the railway station was at first over some wretched 
streets, torn up for repairs, or *' improvements," so- 
called, and then over the Calle de Elvira, the chief 
shopping district, which was gorgeous from end to 
end with the decorations of the day before, when had 
been celebrated, not only in Granada but throughout 
all Catholic countries, the feast of Corpus Christi. 
These decorations consisted of fancy-colored poles set 
up along the curblines, on which awnings of different 
hues were stretched across the roadway. Poles and 
cross-ropes were twined about with greens and 
adorned with small flags, while electric light bulbs 
were innumerable. I doubt not that, gay as these trap- 
pings looked in the sunlight, they were much more 
beautiful in the evening, with myriad-colored lights. 
The main streets I found to run approximately at 
right angles and to be less narrow than in most Span- 
ish cities. There were good-sized squares, some high 
houses, both new-fashioned and old-fashioned, and 
enough odd buildings here and there to remind one 
of the former occupation of this capital by the Moors. 
Subsequent inspection proved that the city had also 
numerous curious mediaeval attractions, but my first 
impressions were not over-favorable as to the interest 
of Granada as an old Moorish settlement. 

After driving to the eastern, or Granada, gate, and 
passing through, one finds himself immediately in the 
famous Alameda Park, connected with the Alhambra 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 25 

grounds, and said to enjoy the reputation of being 
*' the most beautiful promenade in the world." I am 
not sure that this reputation is illy founded, for the 
foliage of the trees and the perfect driveway make 
it an almost incomparable forest-park. What it was in 
Moorish times we can scarcely guess, but since the 
days of the Duke of Wellington it has become more 
and more charming. It was that '' Iron Duke " who 
planted here, in 1812, limes and elms brought from 
England, and they are now in the perfection of their 
glory. They are as giants, lining the roadway many 
deep. Their tops reach over to each other and inter- 
lace, so that the noon sunbeams can scarcely straggle 
through. Running streams are on each side of the 
roadbed, being fed by the waters of the Darro, that 
are diverted near the palace site for this purpose. 
There are also minor cross-avenues here and there, 
all shaded by these imported trees. The great thor- 
oughfare surely forms a drive that is now fit for any 
prince or king. One large intersecting avenue has 
two fountains at each end, and in the centre a garden 
of roses, jessamine and myrtle; indeed elsewhere the 
myrtle, moss and laurel are as dense as the shade it- 
self. When one looks up and down the avenue, sees 
only the intense shades of green below, with here and 
there a patch of blue sky above, and hears the pecu- 
liarly sweet songs of the nightingales, which have 
made their home in Granada for centuries, he cannot 
be sure whether he is in some terrestrial paradise or is 
dreaming. On the whole, the Alameda is a magnifi- 
cent portal to the finest ruined palace on earth, and 
while it reminds one of the entrance to Warwick Cas- 
tle, or to the drive through the Thiergarten in Berlin, 
it is much more picturesque. 

Near the far end of this Alameda, close under the 



26 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

rocky steeps of the Alhambra, where, however, the 
latter is wholly invisible, stands the " Washington Irv- 
ing Hotel," the best hostelry in Granada, but not the 
best in Spain. It is named after the American writer, 
although he never inhabited it. While there I found 
the rooms excellent and the hotel grounds pretty, 
but the meals and table service unsatisfactory. Proba- 
bly, however, this faulty feature arose from the time 
of year; it was not " during the season." Opposite to 
this house is another large hotel, which belongs to the 
same proprietor, Senor Ortiz. 

I arrived toward dusk, when rain began to fall, so 
that there was nothing to do but await the morning 
before investigating surroundings. It rained most of 
the next day, also; the first rain I had seen in Spain. 
Then it cleared up, and I think I saw no more for 
over a month, afterward. I speak of this because the 
month was June, and, as the air was not hot but de- 
lightful during every day — just like our brightest and 
best American May days — it seems safe to suggest 
that Col. John Hay was not far wrong in declaring in 
his " Castilian Days " that June is " the pleasantest 
time of the year." At any rate it is a good period in 
which to visit that land, although it may be contrary 
to the accepted opinions of the guide-books. 

And now we have really reached the goal of all 
travelers in southern Spain — the world-renowned Al- 
hambra. But no profane hand should attempt to de- 
scribe the former or the present glories of that citadel 
and palace. By profane hand, I mean, of course, that 
of one who is not familiar with the history, uses and 
plans of architecture of the whole mass of buildings 
that, collectively, make up the Palace of the Alham- 
bra, and who is also not conversant, after careful 
study, with every exquisite detail of this Moorish gem. 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 27 

Only one like our Washington Irving, who lived with- 
in it and studied it month after month, is competent 
to translate such a poem. It is a poem, in stone and 
plaster, in carving and arabesque; and, while first 
impressions are that it is marvelous, one must see it 
again and again, by all lights of day and all shades ol 
moonlight; at the sunrising, in the twihght, and even 
at the midnight hour, when the plashing fountains 
are " bubbling low their threnody of prayer," and the 
voices and music of long ago from the lips of sultanas 
seem to fill its courts with soft, sweet cadences, as if 
happiness were everywhere, before he can fully enter 
into its spirit of etherealness. Now uninhabited, one 
must wait long and wait in vain, in the evening as in 
the morning, for anything like the real ancient human 
songs or human sighs. 

"Lonely and still are now thy marble halls, 
Thou fair Alhambra! There the feast is o'er, 
And with the murmur of thy fountain falls 
Blend the wild tones of minstrelsy no more. 

"Hushed are the voices that in years gone by 

Have mourned, exulted, menaced, through thy towers; 
Within thy pillared courts the grain waves high 
And all uncultured bloom thy fairy bowers." 

Yet the soul of beauty still hovers over and dwells 
within it; every crumbling bit of masonry is transfig- 
ured into glorious tints and is a-blush with the ten- 
der colorings of Oriental master-workers; and after 
several visits I doubt not one may repeople its courts 
with Moorish kings and queens and beautiful sultanas. 

Irving, genial soul, lived long in the Alhambra like 
a ghost, alone, and he managed to catch all the colors 
from of¥ the wings of this bird of paradise and hand 
them down to generations of readers since. He first 
learned to know each foot of the ground, and then. 



28 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

when deeply in love with every romance of its courts 
and fountains, wrote his immortal work. How often I 
thought of his pure, unselfish, happy spirit, as I saw 
the Alhambra, with the same species of jessamine, 
roses and myrtle within, the same blue and purple 
Sierras without, and the same gurgling rills and foun- 
tains everywhere, that he, admired so much and pic- 
tured with such tender affection ! 

Granada without the Alhambra would be the shell 
without the pearl. Yet Granada itself is in a situation 
far more charming than that of Athens, and is incom- 
parably more beautiful than are the hills of Rome. It 
lies on the sides and at the base of a series of pic- 
turesque elevations, and it has before it two prospects 
of which the eye can never tire — a fertile plain spread- 
ing out for thirty miles in length, covered with har- 
vests, with orchards of olive, lemon, orange, fig, ap- 
ple, pear, peach, quince and vines, with winding riv- 
ers, towers, convents, and with patches everywhere 
of verdure of intensest hue. And then, beyond them 
all, is a background of forest-covered slopes, while in 
the opposite direction lies the snow-covered Sierra 
Nevada, a range of mountains much like the Lebanon 
range in Syria and quite as glorious to the eye. 

The Alhambra : let me in a few brief words attempt 
to call up, although far away from it as I write, the 
happy memories of a visit to it, which was all too short 
but which, while it lasted, scintillated with colors as 
brilliant as a sunset on the Norwegian fjords. 

Unfortunately, the exterior of the palace is too 
much of a ruin to show what it was in the days of its 
perfection. One must enter within to catch a ghmpse 
of its spiritual qualities. Yet I doubt if it ever was re- 
markable on the exterior. The Moors knew it must 
always be a castle of defence, and so it would have 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 29 

been folly to have decorated its outer walls. Those 
who imagine the Alhambra to have been a single pal- 
ace, constructed as a whole at one time, have an incor- 
rect conception of it. It was a series of buildings and 
courts, which from a distance looked then and 
appear still like one huge fortress. It was constructed 
in sections during a period of at least one hundred 
and fifty years. Its location is on a plateau, about 
eight hundred yards long by two hundred broad, the 
whole of which the Moors surrounded by a massive 
wall, flanked by various towers. This plateau is upon 
the shoulder of a mountain, not upon the highest part. 
The ascent to it is gradual, over a hard road. The en- 
trance way is through the Gate of Justice, built in 
1348, much resembling the usual Continental "Arches 
of Triumph." It is, in fact, a tower, sixty-seven feet 
in height, with four openings. The outer gate is 
carved with a hand outstretched, '' to avert the evil 
eye." Above the inner gate is carved a key, the symbol 
of power. The gate has massive wooden doors. This 
interesting inscription in Arabic is over the doorway: 
" May the Almighty make this portal a protecting 
bulwark, and write down its erection." 

To the right, after entering, is a huge building in 
the Renaissance style, never completed, and, because 
of its Sixteenth Century Italian architecture, wholly 
out of place in the Alhambra grounds. In some other 
place it would be termed elaborate and interesting, but 
when Charles V. built it for a palace he did not observe 
the principle by which he criticized a similar impo- 
sition by priestly architects in the mosque at Cordova. 
Those architects put a church within the finest mosque 
in the world and thus ruined its harmonious whole. 
This palace ruined the harmony of the Alhambra 
grounds, and, as it was left incomplete, it v/ill continue 



30 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

for all time to be a monument to the pride and arro- 
gance of the father of Philip 11. 

Passing this palace of Charles, it is usual to turn to 
the left and inspect the Torre de la Vela, the chiel 
watch-tower, which rises eighty-five feet above the 
ground; the place where the flag of the Catholic kings 
was displayed for the first time on that memorable 
second day of January, 1492 — the very year of the dis- 
covery of America — when Ferdinand and Isabella 
took possession of the citadel and expelled the last 
Moor from Spanish soil. Those sovereigns were 
upon this tower in person that day; and how their 
hearts must have swelled with patriotic pride as they 
saw the Moors crossing the mountain beyond, and, as 
the story runs, weeping as they went: 

"There was crying in Granada when the sun was going down; 
Some calling on the Trinity, some calling on Mahoun; 
Here passed away the Koran; there in the Cross was borne; 
And here was heard the Christian bell, and there the Moorish horn." 

Washington Irving describes a horseback ride over 
the way Boabdil went that beautiful winter day. He 
(Irving) rode from the Castle, crossed a ravine, and 
then he says: '' Emerging from this rough ravine, so 
full of melancholy associations, and passing by the 
Gate of the Mills, I issued forth upon the public prom- 
enade called the Prado; and pursuing the course of 
the Xenil, arrived at a small chapel, once a mosque, 
now the Hermitage of San Sebastian. Here, accord- 
ing to tradition, Boabdil surrendered the keys of 
Granada to King Ferdinand. I rode slowly thence 
across the Vega to a village where the family and 
household of the unhappy king awaited him, for he 
had sent them forward on the preceding night from 
the Alhambra, that his mother and wife might not 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 31 

participate in his personal humiliation, or be exposed 
to the gaze of the conquerors. Following on in the 
route of the melancholy band of royal exiles, I ar- 
rived at the foot of a chain of barren and dreary 
heights forming the skirt of the Alpuxarra mountains. 
From the summit of one of these the unfortunate 
Boabdil took his last look at Granada; it bears a name 
expressive of his sorrows, *La Cuesta de las Lagrimas' 
(the Hill of Tears). Beyond it, a sandy road winds 
across a rugged, cheerless waste, doubly dismal to 
the unhappy monarch, as it led to exile. I spurred my 
horse to the summit of a rock, where Boabdil uttered 
his last sorrowful exclamation, as he turned his eyes 
from taking their farewell gaze : it is still denominated 
' The Last Sigh of the Moor.' Who can wonder at his 
anguish at being expelled from such a kingdom, and 
such an abode? With the Alhambra he seemed to be 
yielding up all the honors of his line, and all the glo- 
ries and delights of life. It was here, too, that his af- 
fliction was embittered by the reproach of his mother, 
Ayxa, who had so often assisted him in times of peril, 
and had vainly sought to instill into him her own reso- 
lute spirit. ' You do well,' said she, * to weep as a wo- 
man over what you could not defend as a man,' a 
speech savoring more of the pride of the princess than 
the tenderness of the mother." ("Alhambra," Ch. i6). 
That little touch of secret motherly grief makes 
one desire to hear more of that " farewell scene," and 
we find it in Irving's other work — his ''Conquest of 
Granada:" "At two leagues' distance, the cavalcade, 
winding into the skirts of the Alpuxarras, ascended an 
eminence commanding the last view of Granada. 
As they arrived at this spot, the Moors paused invol- 
untarily, to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city 
which a few steps more would shut from their sight 



32 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

forever. Never had it appeared so lovely in their eyes. 
The sunshine, so bright in that transparent cUmate, 
lit up each tower and minaret, and rested gloriously 
upon the crowning battlements of the Alhambra; 
while the Vega spread its enamelled bosom of verdure 
below, glistening with the silver windings of the Xe- 
nil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with a silent agony 
of tenderness and grief upon that delicious abode, the 
scene of their loves and pleasures. While they yet 
looked, a light cloud of smoke burst forth from the 
citadel, and presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard, 
told that the city was taken possession of, and the 
throne of the Moslem kings was lost forever. The 
heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortunes and over- 
charged with grief, could no longer contain itself: 'Al- 
lah Achbar!' (' God is great!') said he; but the words 
of resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into 
tears." In the meantime a very different scene was 
being enacted within the Alhambra walls. " Queen 
Isabella having joined the king, the royal pair, fol- 
lowed by a triumphant host, passed up the road by 
the Hill of Martyrs, and thence to the main entrance 
to the Alhambra. The grand cardinal awaited them 
under the lofty arch of the great Gate of Justice, ac- 
companied by Don Gutierrez de Cardenas and Aben 
Comixa. Here King Ferdinand gave the keys which 
had been delivered up to him into the hands of the 
queen; they were passed successively into the hands 
of prince Juan, the grand cardinal, and finally into 
those of the Count de Tendilla, in whose custody they 
remained, that brave cavalier having been named al- 
calde of the Alhambra, and captain-general of Gran- 
ada." And now, as the royal army was advancing, " in 
all the pomp of courtly and chivalrous array, a proces- 
sion of a different kind came forth to meet it. This 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 33 

was composed of more than five hundred Christian 
captives, many of whom had languished for years in 
Moorish dungeons. Pale and emaciated, they came 
clanking their chains in triumph, and shedding tears 
of joy. They were received with tenderness by the 
sovereigns. The king hailed them as good Spaniards, 
as men loyal and brave, as martyrs to the holy cause; 
the queen distributed liberal relief among them with 
her own hands, and they passed on before the squad- 
rons of the army, singing hymns of jubilee." The ban- 
ner flung out that January day from the main watch- 
tower is still preserved in the Cathedral at Granada, 
with other relics of those most famed of Spanish sov- 
ereigns." 

I spent some time upon this tower, and from it 
viewed the town of Granada — the old and the new 
town — the valley and the surrounding Sierras. A 
wonderful view! I could readily conceive why the 
Moors wept to leave such a paradise, the like of which 
does not exist in the whole of Spain. Even that mag- 
nificent vista I saw a month later, of the Umbrian val- 
ley of Italy from the heights of Perugia, is scarcely as 
fair as this. 

I am not sure of the order in which I visited 
the several Palaces of the Alhambra. Their intricate 
aisles, doorways, courts, fountains, baths, retiring 
rooms, bedrooms, balconies, towers, are now a medley 
in my mind; they could not be otherwise, for each new 
spot was like one more leaf torn from the tales of the 
^'Arabian Nights." I am sure, however, I entered first 
the Court of Myrtles, the largest of all the courts, 
com.posed of a garden, a court and corridors. In that 
court was an immense basin of water, extending al- 
most from one side to the other, surrounded by a 
hedge of myrtle. Look in whatever direction I would, 



34 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the water, in which goldfish were swimming, re* 
fleeted the cokimns and arabesques as in a mirror. 
There were above and around me mosaics, arches, in- 
terlaced traceries, Arabic inscriptions; a dream of de- 
light to the eye and a marvel to the mind. No pagan- 
ism there surely, for the inscriptions ran like this: " I 
seek my refuge in the Lord of the morning;" '' O God, 
to Thee we owe everlasting thanks and undying 
praises," and similar sentences from the Koran. In 
some of the adjacent rooms were whole verses from 
the Koran, and not a few praises to the Caliphs, who 
were the governors of the Alhambra. The Hall of 
the Ambassadors is another work of uncopyable art; 
abounding in embroideries and traceries, roses, gar- 
lands, leaves in stone, thin veils of marble, tilings, and 
elaborate stucco work as deft as if made by the lace- 
makers of Brussels or Venice. From floor to ceiling 
were colors in little bits; a kaleidoscope; a mosaic pan- 
demonium of riches. This was the reception roomi of 
the Moorish sovereigns. Everywhere was frostwork, 
or Mechlin lace. Everywhere were symmetry of de- 
sign and harmony of tints, such as the world probably 
never saw before in Art and will never see again. I 
could hardly tear myself from this room, so gorgeous 
it must have been in its zenith of perfection, and so 
bewilderingly lovely it yet remains! Roofs of cedar 
inlaid with mother-of-pearl may have been in Solo- 
mon's temple, but we do not read of it, and I doubt if 
Solomon's Temple in all its glory was ever arrayed 
like one of these Alhambran halls or courts. The 
baths of the sultanas are among the best preserved 
of the ruins, and are almost as in the time of their oc- 
cupancy. One of only moderate imagination can 
bring back with fidelity to truth the gorgeousness of 
those rooms, where, at any hour of the day or even- 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 35 

ing, attended by their fair maids in waiting, the 
fairest of the wives and daughters of the Caliphs en- 
joyed the luxuries of hot and cold, of steam, vapor 
and plunge baths, to their hearts' content. When the 
pretty creatures were dressed in their silks afterward, 
they had but a step to take to those delicately-cut, 
Moorish, latticed windows, from^ which they could 
view the fountains and orange trees of the courts, or 
the far-away vistas of meadow and hill, that reached 
for miles over the enchanting valley. Often they must 
have had music to beguile their day and evening hours 
in those exquisite rooms and courts. But, after all, 
was not the architecture itself the perpetual music that 
refreshed their souls? An Arab poet said of these 
Moorish sultanas that, when they smiled, they *' dis- 
played teeth of dazzling whiteness, while their 
breath was like the perfume of flowers." Be 
that poetry or be that fact, they were gifted men and 
women who inhabited this little paradise, and not a 
race of beauty-idiots. Their language was the choic- 
est Arabic taught in the universities; they — women 
as well as men — were educated in poetry, architecture, 
music, painting; they loved beauty for its own sake, 
whether in the heavens above by night or in the earth 
below by day; and their religion, if not the best that 
came from the skies, was at least sincere, devout, per- 
sistent, and it remains with their descendants to this 
hour as one of the strangest and strongest forces of 
their daily lives. Mohammedanism will, nay must, 
become effete; but it has taken hold of men for cen- 
turies with a grip that surpasses the love of man for 
man, or of man for woman, and in Spain during the 
mediaeval centuries it mastered everything worth con- 
quering except the Moors' own natural and incorrigi- 
ble cruelty. Nothing has ever tamed that in the Orient 



36 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

or the Occident, save the matchless love of the Gospel 
of the Prince of Peace. 

That which pleased me quite as much as any por- 
tion of the palace, because of its romantic view over a 
deep ravine and to the hills opposite, was the Queen's 
Toilette Room, in that portion of the Alhambra wher« 
Washington Irving spent the one fearful night which 
he describes so eloquently in the chapter on ''The 
Mysterious Chambers" in his "Alhambra," but where 
his after-days were so much richer in experience and 
happiness than in the dark, low rooms which he at 
first occupied. This Toilette Room is suspended over 
an abyss, and the outlook from it is just a little more 
entrancing than the views from that one spacious win- 
dow in the Hall of the Ambassadors from which Irv- 
ing watched so often, and for hours together, thef 
Granada promenade, and fair women, and the broad 
expanse of the lovely Vega (in English, the Plain). 
Some of this very Vega, so beautiful and so fertile, 
can be seen, if I recall aright, from the Toilette Room 
(though miuch better from the Hall of the Ambassa- 
dors) and the " Spanish Alps " are also, apparently, 
but a mile or two away, and as white as a vision of 
the Heavenly City. 

I have not yet spoken of the two most famous por- 
tions of the palace, the one known as the Room of th^ 
Two Sisters, and the other as the Court of the Lions. 
The Room of the Two Sisters was one of a suite of 
rooms which formed the winter residence of the Sul- 
tana. To make this clear it is only necessary to add 
that in the summer the rooms facing the courts and 
fountains were in constant use, but during Spain's 
short winter, when there were dismal days or rain, the 
quarters which were covered and could be made warm 
with braziers were to be preferred. The Room of the 




Court of Lions, Alhambra, Granada. 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 37 

Two Sisters is peculiarly distinguished for its honey- 
comb dome-vaulting overhead. This ceiling more re- 
sembles a room in Aladdin's cave than that of any 
real room I have ever entered. Its details can 
best be likened to the cells of the honeycomb, and 
there are said to be not less than five thousand of these 
cells visible in this one roof. At each corner of this 
roof there are enormous and beautifully elaborate sta- 
lactite pendants hanging, and above these soars that 
dome roof of multiform, cells, each cell breaking into 
the other, as it were, and climbing over its head. And 
those cells are not regular, but fantastic, frolicsome, 
picturesque. The side walls have dados adorned with 
convolutions of red, green and blue colors; above 
them there are embroideries, as brilliant as if made 
yesterday, on a ground of plaster lace-work. The fa- 
mous two-handled Alhambra vase, enamelled in white, 
blue and gold, more than four feet high, dating from 
1320, and said to have been found in the palace filled 
with gold, is now in a corner of this room. 

The Court of the Lions is an open court, in the 
centre of which is a large fountain-basin, supported 
by twelve red marble lions. Surrounding this court 
is an arcade supporting a wooden roof. In this arcade 
there are one hundred and twenty-four columms, some 
standing singly, some in pairs, and some in groups 
of three and four. The walls are plastered, but the 
fretwork looks as if it were carved in ivory. The 
arcades are paved with blue and white tiles. There 
is not near the pompous effect here that there is in the 
Court of the Myrtles, but somehow the whole is of far 
more elegance than the last named court, though I 
judge its fame comes chiefly from its central fountain 
and also from its beautiful capitals. An inscription in 
the arcade of this court well exhibits the poetical fer- 



38 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

vor of the Moors. It is an inscription to Mohammed 
V. : " Thou givest safety from the breeze to the blades 
of grass, and inspirest terror in the very stars of heav- 
en. When the shining stars quiver, it is through 
dread of Thee, and when the grass of the field bends 
down, it is to g^ve Thee thanks." This is a good ex- 
ample of hyperbole, and should have been addressed 
to God rather than to Mohammed, but it illustrates the 
perfervid imagination and the singular ascription of 
nearly Divine power to earthly potentates, which dis- 
tinguished this peculiar race. 

The lovely spectre of the Alhambra, the same 
which has stalked down the aisles of Art these half a 
thousand years, so took hold of me ere I left it that I 
now call it up as a wonder in the same category with a 
sight of the old Sphynx and the Pyramids, or of the 
Kremlin in Moscow from Sparrow Hill, or of the Par- 
thenon on the Athenian Acropolis. It covers little 
ground compared with the moss-green forests around 
it; it is tiny beside the snowpeaks of the dazzling Sier- 
ras in the far background; yet how it speaks of the 
amazing glory of an age and a people which left Spain 
all too soon for the culture and the energy of that 
nation ! 

Next to the Alhambra, the sight that wins the 
heart most in Granada is the Cathedral, wherein Fer- 
dinand and Isabella lie entombed, and where the 
crowns, sceptres, jewels and battle-flags, that are so 
closely connected with their history, and that must 
have swelled the soul of Columbus with so much pride 
as he sought this court for the privilege of discover- 
ing a new world, are shown as among Spain's most 
precious relics. Contrary to the usual rule in Spain, 
this Cathedral is not so ugly on the exterior as to re- 
semble a fortress. It has not much charm, but still it 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 39 

will bear study in its outward architecture. It was 
built, of course, not by the Moors but by the Catholic 
sovereigns afterward. Begun in 1523, it was not fin- 
ished until 1703, and, as a Renaissance building 
throughout — which style, somehow, has never quite 
captured my imagination as an ideal kind for a place 
of worship — it is probably (Mr. Ferguson, an author- 
ity, says it is certainly) one of the finest of European 
churches. Its Great Chapel is magnificent, but the 
Chapel Royal contains that which most interests 
Americans, and comes most close to the heart of the 
Spaniard, for there lies all that is mortal of those two 
great sovereigns, Ferdinand and Isabella. Two im- 
mense royal monuments, finely conceived and exe^ 
cuted, adorn its centre, one that of the king and queen 
just named, the other that of Philip of Austria and the 
Infanta Johanna. These are surrounded by a tall iron 
grating of singular attractiveness. Beneath these 
monuments is a small crypt, to which there is an en- 
trance by a trap-door and some narrow steps, and here 
in plain leaden coffins are pointed out the resting 
places of the sovereigns. Simple caskets: how much 
of history important to America is wrapped up inside 
of the royal vestm.ents within two of those sealed 
boxes! Near it is that standard which first floated 
over Granada the day the Moors said " good-bye " for- 
ever to the adopted country of their love; some finely 
embroidered vestments, one made by Isabella; her 
mirror, her reliquary, her crown; and there are the 
very jewels she pawned to send Columbus on his voy- 
age of discovery. Sometimes the sacristan will allow 
you to handle that box of jewels, and, somehow, I 
felt while in this Cathedral that I should rather hold 
them for a little period than to touch any thing or spot 
in all this fair Granada. The altar in this chapel is al- 



40 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

SO a bit of wonder-work to which no photograph can 
do justice. 

Of course I visited the famous Carthusian convent^ 
and while I did not care for the pictures of the mar- 
tyrs in the cloisters, which are too repulsive to bear 
study, I revelled in the sacristy, where there are 
twisted columns of red and black marble, and a variety 
of other marbles so beautiful that one is aghast at 
their immense and marvelous richness. I am not quite 
sure that in any edifice in the Old World there are 
marbles fairer than these. 

Granada has many pretty balconies, many beauti- 
ful types of women, many drives over the hills and 
down into the valley, which are Elysian. It has also 
hosts of one-eyed beggars, abominable but pictur- 
esque gypsies, living in caves in the hills, forlorn chil- 
dren, and, on the whole, a general air about it which 
combines the quaint and the ugly with the curious and 
the lovely. 

But, after all, it is the Alhambra and the Vega 
which are the glory of Granada, and these are of so 
rare a quality that I left it with more regrets than any 
other Spanish city. I do not wonder that poets have 
sung of this spot as a '* threshold of Paradise." It is 
a place which the old gods would have loved. It was 
the citadel the Moors defended with undying heroism, 
a heroism that added lustre to all preceding tales of 
Oriental valor. 

"It is a goodly sight to see 
What heaven hath done for this delicious land; 
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree, 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand." 

Just a brief distance from Granada — say eight 
miles — in. the midst of the plain, lies Santa Fe, a town 



GRANADA AND THE ALHAMBRA 41 

almost wholly constructed in a quarter of a year. 
When Granada was besieged, Isabella decided to lay 
out what she trusted might be a city, and in eighty 
days church and town were built, in the form of a 
Roman camp. Here she held her court; here the 
friend of Columbus, who did so much to bring his 
contemplated mission to the final notice of Isabella, 
the Friar Juan Perez, who had been Isabella's confes- 
sor, saw her and pleaded the cause of Columbus with 
all the enthusiasm and energy of his nature, and the 
reply was, ** Send Columbus again to me.*' She trans^ 
mitted by him to Columbus the silver requisite to have 
him, then a poor man, greatly discouraged by repeated 
bafflings, made presentable in raiment to appear be- 
fore her. When he arrived at Santa Fe the siege was 
almost over, and in the excitement of the Moorish sur- 
render he could only look on as a spectator. Colum- 
bus saw Granada fall. He was there on the ground 
when the Crescent went down and the Cross was ex- 
alted in its place. He saw the Alhambra in its glory 
and the Moors in their humiliation take their way 
from it to distant Africa, and then, at this Santa Fe, 
he brought up anew his cause. It was a thrilling miO' 
ment for him, for now he must surely win or lose. 
The man rose up to a new height as he asked Isabella 
for money and power to discover the new route to the 
Indies. He boldly said to the Queen: " I must be ad- 
miral and viceroy over all the countries I shall discov- 
er, and I must receive one-tenth of all the profits to 
ensue of trade or conquest." It was a daring demand. 
Her advisers said '* No." Thereupon Columbus left 
the court, left Santa Fe, deciding to put leagues of 
space forever between himself and the Queen. 
On his mule, the same he had purchased out of the 
money Isabella sent him to appear at court, he crossed 



42 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

from Santa Fe to Pinos on his way to Cordova, 
whence he was going to France. He reached the 
bridge at the town of Pinos, on a hill at the base of the 
Sierra de Elvira; it is but about six miles from Santa 
Fe. Pinos had once been a Roman settlement; is now 
a thrifty town. On that bridge a messenger overtook 
him. He was from Isabella, with a summons to return 
once more to court. It is history how Columbus re- 
traced his course with joyful alacrity, again saw the 
Queen, and on the 17th of April, 1492, signed with 
her the contract which enabled him to find, on the 
following twelfth day of October, the New World. 



III.~THE CITY OF SEVILLE. 

TWO HOURS before one arrives at Seville, 
the olive orchards, which are a feature of 
the scenery of southern Spain, are left be- 
hind, and there come suddenly into view barrenness 
and railway enclosures made up wholly of cacti, which 
are of picturesque variety, and whose novelty attracts, 
although they do not differ in any substantial way 
from the same genus in the arid tropical parts of 
America, where they are equally indigenous. As 
there are over sixty varieties of these plants in the 
world, dissimilar in the same variety both in size and 
shape, they deserve more study than they usually re- 
ceive. The flowers may be white, scarlet, or purple, 
but they are always brilliant and beautiful. I have 
seen them in Spain and in Sicily ten and fifteen feet 
high, and the poorer the soil the finer the specimens. 
There are some bits of ground when nearing Seville 
extremely arid as compared with the country toward 
Granada, and there were the cacti in greatest abun- 
dance. 

Aside from these plants there were now and then 
grainfields, including some of Indian corn, and occa- 
sionally rich pasture lands, on which I saw large 
herds of the bulls used for the bull-fights of Seville, 
Cordova and Madrid. The Duke of Veragua has a 
domain in this locality and his bulls are mong the best 
bred in Spain. These animals were grazing peacefully 
and looked as harmless as if they were so many cows, 
not even lifting their heads to observe the railway 



44 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

train. Had one of us crossed the field with or without 
any red about his person, would he have been mo- 
lested? I asked the question but received no answer. 
Cedar trees, tall and stately, now appeared in the land- 
scape, and some of the hills were crowned with grape- 
vines. Urso of the Romans, now Osuna, a thriving 
town upon a summit, came into view. Here and there 
we crossed a river-bed, the water in which was scarce- 
ly perceptible. And now the tall bell-tower of the 
Seville cathedral appeared in the far distance. 

It is an interesting approach to a wonderful city. 
Off to the right, beyond the Guadalquiver, on hill- 
sides purplish in the evening sunset, lay the ruins of 
ancient Italica. Everywhere were signs of life, thrift, 
manual activity and semi-tropical vegetation. Palm 
trees became abundant. Men and women were on 
the roadways in peculiar costumes. *' The Athens of 
Spain " seems to open her hands wide to receive her 
guests. There are no high walls, no battlemented 
gates, no barriers to ingress; nothing to prevent the 
eye from counting up the dominant features — but you 
must stand on some eminence to see the landscape 
well. 



"Seville's towers are worn and old; 
Seville's towers are gray and gold: 
Saffron, purple and orange dyes 
Meet at the edge of her sunset skies: 
Bright are Seville's maidens' eyes, 
Gay the cavalier's guitar: 
Music, laughter, low replies, 
Intermingling; and afar. 
Over the hill, over the dell, 
Soft and low: Adagio! 
Comes the knell of the vesper bell. 
Solemnly and slow." 

So sang Bret Harte in his earlier years, but when he 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 45 

had not seen Seville, and the " towers " now almost 
dwindle to one, though that one is magnificent. 

Seville, or '^ Sevilla," as it is spelled in Spain, is a 
pretty name, and calls up memories of Moorish archi- 
tects and Spanish poets, second to none in a lund 
of warmth of soul and splendor of decoration. Its 
ancient Iberian name was Hispalis, from which we get 
the term Hispania, or Espana, the present local name 
of the empire. 

The hotel I selected was the " Madrid," not located 
on a wide or imposing street, but introducing one to 
a lovely patio, quite as beautiful as any I saw after- 
ward. A patio is an inner court, on three sides of 
which a house or hotel is constructed; the fourth, or 
front side, is made up of the vestibule leading into it 
from the street. In this patio are sometimes flowers and 
palms; frequently a fountain and always seats. The 
blue sky overhead, invariably unclouded in the month 
of June, necessarily reveals the warm sun by day and 
the bright stars by night, but, to keep out the extreme 
heat, the opening is covered by an awning from ten 
o'clock, or eleven, to three or four. The "Madrid's" 
patio was spacious, and as hospitable in its appearance 
as its genial proprietor was in fact. Its open-armed- 
ness made me feel immediately welcome, and at no 
other hostelry in Spain may one be more at home than 
there. Subsequently I saw other delightful patios, and 
soon discovered they were a specialty in this Andalu- 
sian capital. Scarcely a house was without one, and 
each had some beauty all its own. The question re- 
curred over and over, why it is that no other city in 
Europe has adopted the same charming house plan, 
or why in America the utilitarian might not gi^^e way, 
often, especially in the South, to such an artistic and 
bewitching scheme of a cool summer resort in the ac- 



46 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tual privacy of one's dwelling? Oriental cities had set 
eariier examples, and they are yet not unknown in 
beautiful climates, but Seville is to-day, par excel- 
lence, the home of the patio as an institution of inher- 
ent loveHness. 

I was prepared by other descriptions to see a 
" spotless whiteness " in the exteriors of all residences 
in Seville, but in this I had a sense of agreeable disap- 
pointment. White prevailed, but there were grays and 
other neutral tints, and they were pleasant to the eye; 
a glaring white would have been offensive. Seville 
was clean, trim, sprightly, gay. The street sights were 
often unique. Donkeys were driven tandem, as many 
as five in a row. Milk shops, not over twelve or fifteen 
feet square, contained cows and goats, which were 
milked by their owners whenever the lacteal fluid was 
purchased. Sidewalks were sometimes scarcely more 
than a single foot wide, and in nearly all cases narrow, 
proving the city is not a modern one. Everywhere 
scenes reminded the onlooker that here was at one 
time the home of a peculiar race, the influences of 
which have not died away. The seat of opulent com- 
merce in the days of the great Csesar, who fostered it 
in opposition to Pompey's rival city, Cordova, Hispa- 
lis, as it was called, never failed to maintain its import- 
ance until the Moors took possession of it, eight hun- 
dred years later (712), and it finally became an inde- 
pendent repubHc of four hundred thousand souls 
three hundred years afterward, when it attained its 
supreme glory. Christian Seville (from 1248) never 
reached the same altitude in the arts and in commerce 
as it maintained for so many previous centuries. Alas 
that fanaticism should be credited with artistic tri- 
umphs and mental endowments, which a miserable 
form of Christianity pushed to the outer wall! Never- 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 47 

theless, when Columbus returned from his successful 
voyage to America, Seville opened its arms to him, 
and it then regained, what it had in the time of Augus- 
tus Caesar, a monopoly of foreign trade in transatlan- 
tic stuffs, and soon gold from the mines of Mexico be- 
gan to pour into its lap. Vessels came up the Guadal- 
quiver sixty miles from its mouth, and it became anew 
the chief port of Spain. One can hardly realize now, 
when the fall of that river is so slight, that there can 
be a neap tide of six feet at Seville, but so it is, and 1 
saw large vessels, of sixteen feet draught, lying 
moored at the quays, discharging or loading cargoes 
as complaisantly as if they were anchored in the 
harbors of Cadiz or Lisbon. 

There seems to be an intricate network of narrow 
streets in Seville, yet on the whole its streets are 
much finer than any in dusty, rough-paved and less 
attractive Cordova. One can drive about in some 
comfort, which cannot be said of Cordova. Beggars 
are quite unknown. Everyone seems to have 
enough with which to clothe and feed himself, and also 
to buy and smoke cigarettes all day. De Amicis 
speaks of the city as a " terrestrial paradise, full oi 
love, delight and peace." No doubt all three of these 
felicities are characteristic of Seville. I should call it 
an abode of the better type of Spaniards, all of whom 
inherit a love of gaiety, pursuing pleasure for the 
self-satisfaction that is in it, and yet who are as relig- 
ious here as in any portion of the empire. Pretty faces 
of maidens peeped from behind flower-embowered 
windows in the vesper hours of every day, and laugh- 
ter and song were as myriad-voiced as the bright, 
sweet stars of each tranquil night. 

I sometimes arose early in the morning and looked 
out of my second-story window, to find many peo- 



48 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

pie astir, women vying with men in going forth to 
market, their faces wreathed in happy smiles. Cer- 
vantes, Velasquez and Murillo had made their homes 
in this city — the twO' latter were born in Seville — and 
the influence of their intellectual activities permeate 
the generations that have succeeded them. The beau- 
tiful children of Murillo may still be seen playing in 
the streets, and the marvelous portraits of Velasquez 
are reproduced in every square. So, too, the dramas 
of Cervantes are reenacted in the daily walk of not a 
few of the inhabitants. 

The most interesting drive is along the bank of the 
Guadalquiver, near which is the well-known prome- 
nade called the Christina, which toward evening is 
the scene of much human activity, people going on 
foot and in carriages, pressing on toward the Public 
Gardens. The Torre del Ore, (Tower of Gold), is one 
of the noted landmarks of the city, and it stands on the 
left bank of the river, at the corner of one of the open 
plazas. The lower portion is nearly seven hundred 
years old, and receives its name from its share in hold- 
ing the first gold that poured into the coffers of Spain 
when the ships of Columbus and his successors braved 
the stormy seas between the " Indies " and Europe. 
There are traditions connecting the Tower with Ro- 
man times, but its history is chiefly mediaeval. The 
chief promenade named has shade trees, of plane, oak, 
cypress, wallow and poplar, but attracts attention main- 
ly because of its width and openness. 

The river at this point is wide and dignified. Far- 
ther up the iron bridge, the Puerto de Isabel II., cross- 
es and joins together Seville proper and its suburb of 
Triano. I went over it to see the gypsies, who, with 
others of the lower classes, inhabit it almost exclusive- 
ly, and they proved a unique but not very interesting 



THE CITY OP SEVILLE 49 

lot, who were by no means averse to begging, and yet 
had bright eyes and gave profuse smiles to the 
stranger. 

The PubUc Gardens are not so beautiful as those at 
Barcelona, Madrid, or Granada, but are pretty, roomy, 
abounding in tropical plants, and are the goal of the 
wealthy toward the sunset of each pleasant day, when 
the air is filled with the perfume of blossoms and flow- 
ers, and troops of young people walk hither and yon, 
finding little retreats beneath the planes and the 
palms. 

Columbus, or what bones of him might still exist, 
seems to be laid finally at rest in a sarcophagus 
in Seville's noble Cathedral. He was buried at the first 
(1506) in one of the convent churches of the city on 
the " gypsy " side of the Guadalquiver, to which place 
his body had been brought from ValladoHd. Later 
his remains were removed to San Domingo, Hayti, in 
accordance with his last wishes. Afterward they 
were transferred to the cathedral in Havana (1796). 
Finally (1898) they were brought back to Seville, to 
the city which had extended such a hospitable wel- 
come to him on the completion of his first voyage. 

Who has not heard of the famous Cathedral at 
Seville, enormous in size, the second largest in the 
world (St. Peter's ranking first), noble in interior ar- 
chitecture, dark, gloomy, but splendidly impressive, 
ever calling to mind to the visitor the declaration made 
by the first builders: "Let us erect such a monument 
that posterity will say we were madmen." No one 19 
pleased with the fortress-like exterior, but within 
there is a sense of vastness and symmetry which leads 
one to wonder how it came about that, five hundred 
years ago, architects and churchmen could conceive, 
plan and build so splendid a specimen of Gothic art. 



50 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Grand in its proportions, rich in its decorations, it 
stands to-day, as when it was first erected, a massive, 
wonderful specimen of the handiwork of master minds. 
I went into it again and again only to admire it more 
and more. The music of its princely organ, the state- 
liness of its daily service, the pronounced and real de- 
votion of its numerous worshipers, miust exert some 
influence in calmness of soul and rectitude of life upon 
both priests and laymen in a gay metropolis. Each 
one of the five aisles is as roomy as an ordinary large 
church. Altogether there are sixty vaulted ceilings, 
reaching far toward the '' heavenly heights," and al- 
most every chapel contains beautiful works of the best 
of the sculptors and painters of the Spain of the Mid- 
dle Ages. Herrera, Valdes, Murillo, Zurbaran, Cam- 
paiia, and others like them, have sculptured marble 
or put life on canvas in a manner to inspire the edu- 
cated and to awaken enthusiasm even in the illiterate. 
Nearly seventy sculptors and almost forty painters are 
represented in the stone and canvas which fill the va- 
rious chapels. Of the paintings some are masterpieces, 
notably the "St. Anthony of Padua," by Murillo, one of 
the greatest creations of his princely genius, and " The 
Guardian Angel," by the same artist. Goya's " Saints 
Justa and Rufina," and Campana's " Descent from the 
Cross " are likewise fine specimens of these painters' 
works. In wooden sculpture, a retable of larchwood 
is beautiful, and it is nearly four hundred years 
old. " Hercules built me, Julius Caesar enriched me 
with walls and lofty towers, and the holy King" (Fer- 
dinand III.) " captured me," was an inscription on the 
old city gate known as the Gate of Jerez. It might 
have been added: "And he made possible, by the ex* 
pulsion of the Moors, the construction of a Christian 
edifice, which is one of the wonders of the world." In , 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 51 

one of the chapels are the keys of Seville, presented 
to Ferdinand III. in 1248, when the Moors surren- 
dered to his victorious army. I am glad that Ferdinand 
V. and Isabella witnessed the completion of the mar- 
velous Cathedral, which was begun in 1401, fifty-one 
years before Ferdinand was born, and was practically 
finished ten years before his death (in 15 16). Though 
it was not to be the mausoleum which was to enclose 
within its sacred walls the honored remains of these 
great potentates of Aragon and Castile, of Granada 
and Navarre, it tells of days when those farseeing 
monarchs did so much to make Spain glorious and ex- 
panded her wings of commerce to encircle the globe. 
Sparkling metal, in numerous shrines, the delicate 
tints of the seventy-five picturesque stained glass 
windows, the dense shadows of the enormous pillars 
even in the sunniest day, and then the mighty dome, 
which hangs a hundred and seventy feet above the 
paved floor, compel one to wonder, to admire and to 
adore. The Chapel Royal, which contains the re- 
mains of Saint Ferdinand III., (died 1252), is of it- 
self sufficient to prove the richness in art of an age 
which could bring into a temple like this, dedicated to 
historic memories, such a gem of the Renaissance. It 
is a fit receptacle for an altar on which rests the crystal 
casket of the mighty king. That chapel is, indeed, a 
pantheon in which Peter the Cruel, Alfonso the 
Wise, Beatrice and Blanca found glorious sepulchre. 
The body of the royal Saint Ferdinand is exposed to 
view three times a year, when the troops composing 
the garrison of the city file past and lower colors, to 
signify the reverence still paid to the vanquisher of the 
Moors and the creator of the joint kingdom of Leon 
and Castile. 

It is rare that one sees in a cathedral window a 



52 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

representation of the Ascension of Christ, but here it 
is in the Seville temple. It, and that of the " Rais- 
ing- of Lazarus " and " The Weeping Magdalen," fur- 
nish examples of delicacy of craft, correctness of draw- 
ing, and softness and depth of tone, which are almost 
incomparable. 

I have stated that the bodies of Columbus and of 
his son, Ferdinand, are both interred in this beautiful 
Cathedral. The actual structural tomb of Columbus 
was brought over from Havana, (where it had been 
only from 1892 to 1898), and was being erected when 
I visited the cathedral, as a permanent depositary of 
the discoverer's body. It consists of a marble base, 
with four allegorical figures in bronze, and it is in the 
south transept. In the nave, near the west entrance, 
is the tomb of the son, who died in 1549 and who en- 
joyed with his father, on the latter's fourth voyage, 
the privilege of crossing the sea to the New World. He 
had gathered together by laborious toil and vast ex- 
pense a Hbrary of twenty thousand valuable volumes, 
which was bequeathed to the Cathedral. I found this 
library, or the large portion of it not sold ofif, pre- 
served with greatest care, and with it such interesting 
memorials of his father's voyages as are a delight to 
the curious American visitor. This Columbian Li- 
brary, as it is called, no one who enters Seville should 
fail to see. It is in room.s adjoining the Cathedral, and, 
while most of the volumes do not treat of the subjects 
so near the heart of Christopher Columbus and of his 
son, there are m.any of them which both must have 
fondly cherished. One book contains all the known 
prophecies of a New World, and was annotated by his 
own hand. There are also five manuscripts by Colum- 
bus himself. In them Spain and the world have a 
treasure which neither would sell for the value of all 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 53 

the gold which fell into the lap of either the discoverer 
or his illustrious sovereign. 

Adjoining the Cathedral is the Giralda, the oldest 
and Bnest work of art in Seville. It is a tower, which 
appeared to me when I first saw it (and that early im- 
pression deepened every time I looked upon it) as the 
most perfect work of art of any tower in all Europe. 
It is of the same height as was the Venetian Campa- 
nile, that tumbled into dust in 1902 — three hundred 
and fifty feet. Those who stand in Madison Square, 
New York, and look toward the northeast, will see a 
good imitation of this tower. But the original is, or 
at least seems to be, larger, taller and with such differ- 
ent surroundings that, while the one gives only an ar- 
tistic, the other gives a far more romantic, ancient and 
permanent impression. Giralda means weathercock. 
The vane on the top of the Madison Square Garden 
tower may be patterned after that on the real Giralda, 
but as the latter weighs a ton and a quarter and is of 
bronze, thirteen feet high, the former is a miniature in 
comparison. The Seville tower is certainly one of 
marvelous design. Seen from the top of the Cathedral 
it is masterly, dominating everything around it. Dat- 
ing in part from 1184, it was not completed as it is 
now until 1568. Originally a minaret, attached to the 
mosque adjoining, the mosque was no sooner turned 
into a cathedral than the genius of the new builders 
executed the transformation which turned the slen- 
der minareted spire of two hundred and fifty feet in 
height into a Christian belfry of taller build, more en- 
during strength and more exquisite grace. '' The 
Name of the Lord is a strong tower " was the appro- 
priate text put about it, in circling letters, and while 
built of brick instead of stone, its soft rose color, its 
fine porportions, its deep-cut, entrancing arabesques, 



54 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

its lovely mullioned Moorish windows, its deli- 
cate traceries, its pretty balconies, its variegated roof, 
are each a triumph of the builders's art, a monument 
of captivating uniqueness. Whether the original de- 
sign was made by the inventor of algebra, as has been 
claimed, or not, he surpassed Giotto in his Campanile 
at Florence, and to say this is the highest praise. 

I climbed up to the chief point of outlook and saw 
Seville at my feet, like a city of marble, encircled by 
a valley of gardens, while beyond was the Guadalquiv- 
er, on whose bosom ships were freighted with cargoes 
from the far East and the far West. Beyond the bull- 
circus, over the gardens of the squares, beyond the vil- 
lages on the hillsides, was the Roman town Italica, 
founded by Scipio Africanus, the birthplace of three 
of the Roman emperors. Above that rose majestically 
the indented summits of the Sierra Morena. All 
around, in the distance, were other mountains of vary- 
ing green tints, lying beneath the open, marvelous, 
enchanting Spanish sky. It was a place for serious 
thought as well as for enjoyment. The history of the 
region stretches from the days before the greatest of 
Caesars to the present, and I confess I felt the weight 
of some of those centuries of activities, warfare and 
gaieties press down upon me more than the keen 
sense of delight uplifted me, as I looked out of those 
balcony windows, some two hundred feet above the 
pavement below. By an irony of fate the keeper of the 
tower was a blind man, who had never seen the struct 
ture itself, nor the prospect, and yet for a period of 
forty years had led strangers up and down the narrow 
incline, and, by his sense of feeling and hearing, had 
been sure each one of his guests had returned in safe- 
ty. There were bedrooms in the tower, and I regret 
now not to have inquired if he slept up there every 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 55 

night so near to the harmonious bells, one of which, 
at least, has given forth its harmonies for over five 
hundred years. 

After the Giralda, the Alcazar. A palace of the 
Moorish kings; a dull fortress in appearance without, 
but a clean, gleaming, enchanting place within. Every- 
thing inside the portals is rare, rich, elegant, and in 
better preservation than the Alhambra of Granada. 
The court is surrounded by a portico of delicate 
arches, supported by small marble columns, joined 
two by two, and with walls, windows and doors cov- 
ered with mosaics and arabesques, the latter often per- 
forated like a veil, and overhung with garlands of flow- 
ers in stucco or stone. The surrounding rooms are 
filled with gold ornaments and precious stones, a se- 
ries of novel, artistic designs, a unique confusion of 
harmonious colors. I should like to have seen — I al- 
most expected to see — sitting by one of those little 
windows looking into the court, a real Moorish beauty, 
coquettish, dreamy; but I fear she would have been 
languid, dull, preferring to sleep rather than to per- 
form any of the active duties of life. She might have 
fitted the delicate, spiritual architecture, but it is 
just as well that she has disappeared. I am not 
so sure that the modern Andalusian girl is not 
more vivacious and equally insensible to any high 
ideal of brave endeavor. The most wonderful room 
in the Alcazar is the Hall of the Ambassadors, 
formed of four large arches, supporting more than 
forty smaller ones, above which is a cupola con- 
structed with great tact and charming grace. The 
king, Pedro the Cruel, as well as Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella, his successors, had his name connected with the 
Alcazar, and their royal heads have often laid down 
to rest within these walls, and paced about the grav- 



56 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

elled paths of one of the sweetest of gardens, which ad- 
joins the building. Cypresses and oranges, the mur- 
mur of fountains, the fragrance of flowers, fill the space 
allotted to this garden, and I found it a most restful 
spot for a sunny noon hour. I was there Vv^hen it 
showered, and, immediately thereafter, the leaves of 
the trees and of the vines were sparkling like gems^ 
and odorous; and the upturned lips of the "roses of 
Castile" were as beautiful as ever were the pouting 
months and sensuous eyes of the Moorish sultanas,, 
for whom they or their predecessors had been origi- 
nally planted. These roses were most delicately pink 
in the centre, shading off to lighter tints, until they at- 
tained to the purest white in the outer petals. ''How 
dear thou art, Itimad," said the King Al-Motanino, as 
he wandered in these mazes of flowers and shrubbery: 
" thy kiss is as sweet as wine and thy glance, like wine, 
make me lose my reason!" It may be as well that the 
romance and the gorgeousness of the age of purest 
Moorish blood have passed away, and that a New 
Spain is actually dawning upon the horizon of some 
coming century. It will be less knightly to the imagi- 
nation to have stronger minds and braver doers in the 
place of the Arabian poetasters and builders, but the 
change will mean a new royalty that will again have 
sway where there was once so much servility, and 
where there is to-day such lackadaisicalness and shift- 
lessness in the behavior of the modern Spaniards. 

It has been stated that to secure an idea of the 
beauty of the Sevillian ladies one must go to the tobac- 
co factory, Vv^hich is one of the largest in Europe, em- 
ploying over three thousand operators. I went, but 
saw no astonishing specimens of handsome young 
women. The large and splendid building, one hun- 
dred and fifty years old, situated on one of the main 




Alcazar Gardens^ Seville. 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 57 

streets of the city, opposite to the spacious gardens of 
the Duke de Montpensier, was divided into three im- 
mense workrooms, each of them containing about 
eight hundred women. Tlie latter were separated in- 
to groups, seated around long work-tables, each group 
making up cigars or cigarettes. They all had tan-col- 
ored faces. None were well-dressed; few were so 
much as *' pretty." Probably it is only another proof 
that clothes have a great deal to do with the looks of 
even well-formed ladies. They chatted while they 
worked. Some were eating luncheons, and all seemed 
contented with their employment. The heat of these 
low-ceilinged rooms, which resembled the crypt of a 
church in appearance, was not so great, but the air 
was close and stifling. Each operative is paid accord- 
ing to the amount of her work. The skilled ones earn 
about four and a half pesetas a day — sixty-one cents — 
and the indolent, or unskilled, from two to three-and- 
a-half pesetas — say an average of forty cents. Their 
street clothing was hung up around the posts, while 
scanty, thin and homely garments of all colors were 
worn during the day hours. 

The shop of the " Barber of Seville," upon a corner 
of a street, is one of the show-places, but a greater 
sight is the " House of Pilate." The Marquis Don 
Ribera once made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and 
came back filled with the idea that he could duplicate 
the traditional house of Pilate. His endeavor gave to 
Spain not a mansion of the architecture of the Jews, 
but an Arabian palace, whose interior is almost as 
marvelous as that of the Alcazar. The walls are full 
of mosaics, above which are those delicate arabesques 
which only the Moors knew how to construct. Ceil- 
ings, doors and walls are covered with sculptures of 
flowers and historical events. Every spot is supposed 



58 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

to assume a relation to the scene of the trial of Christ, 
and from the inner court to the outermost rooms there 
is an air of eastern elegance which charms the behold- 
er. As a pure work of Middle Age art it deserves 
close study, and will awaken in any mind the love of 
the beautiful. 

I saw the house in which Murillo lived, and the 
studio near it where he is believed to have wrought, 
now filled with various pictures, few of real conse- 
quence. One Murillo is enough to make any city or 
any hamlet famous for all time. I entered the largest 
banking house of the city, where all the bookkeepers 
were smoking cigarettes while they lazily worked at 
their accounts, and where it took a half hour to draw 
a few hundred pesetas. I did not see the fine Picture 
Gallery, however, and regret it; there was not time. 

The one object beside, in Seville, which I counted 
most worth seeing, and where many an excellent meal 
was served, was the spacious, exquisite dining-room 
of the " Hotel de Madrid; " an extraordinary place in 
size and splendor for a mere eating-room in a hostelry. 
It was long, rather narrow, with tiled walls in varying 
tints and figures, up to a certain height, then white 
arabesques. There were Moorish arches and an ex- 
quisite ceiling. Sitting in this room, to enjoy a good 
table d'hote was a pleasure which must have equalled 
that of the feasters of the hall of the Emperor Domi- 
tian in those days when to be cruel was, also, to give 
the stomach the choicest feasts which money could 
buy or imperial chefs invent. 

By design I have left till the last a description of 
the most curious church festivity which has survived 
the palmy days of the Catholic religion of Spain. By 
it one is likely to remember Seville a little longer than 
by any other single spectacle in the city. I refer to 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 59 

the dance of the *' los seises " in the Cathedral on the 
occasion of the feast of Corpus Christi, and on several 
other solemn weeks of the year. I saw it during Cor- 
pus Christi week, to which it has been attached histor- 
ically for centuries. One may not like the idea of a 
" sacred " dance by boys in a church edifice, but, as I 
saw it, it was not a meaningless ceremony, nor a prof- 
anation; it did not awaken feelings of irreverence any 
more than did the acting of the world's greatest drama, 
the Passion and Death of our Lord, in the Bavarian 
valley of Oberammergau. 

It is said of this dance of the boys (called los seises, 
meaning " the six;" for there were originally six boys, 
but now ten), that a certain good Pope was once re- 
quested by an archbishop of Toledo to have it stopped. 
This, of course, was centuries ago; so long ago that 
the Pope's name has been buried under the lapse of 
time since the tradition. His Holiness replied that un- 
less he saw the performance he could not judge of it. 
The band of boys then went to Rome and danced before 
the Pope. His verdict was that it was not irreverent, 
but, as it was known only to Seville, it should cease at 
such time in the future as the dresses of the boys were 
entirely worn out! Ever since only one article of the 
boys' suits has been laid aside at a time, and, as no 
whole garment has ever been made at one period 
thereafter, these suits are considered as " continuing 
garments," and the dance still goes on! I presume this 
is legend, but the dance does continue, and I doubt if 
any beautiful Greek maidens ever danced more spirit- 
edly, or even more spiritually, before the altars of their 
gods, or if Miriam and her attendants, with timbrels, 
danced before Moses with more grace, than these boys 
before the high altar in the Cathedral of Seville. The 
dress is, indeed, peculiar. It is said to be that worn 



60 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

by pages in the reign of Pedro III., king of Aragon in 
the Thirteenth Century. It consists of a red and white 
striped jacket, short white trousers of satin, covered 
with rich gold embroidery, white stockings and slip- 
pers having large bows, and broad-brimmed hats bear- 
ing red and white plumes. In the boys' hands are cas- 
tanets. Before these dancers appeared, the arches of 
the Cathedral rang with the rich music of the organ 
and the vesper hymns of the monks. Finally they, and 
musicians having violins, and also the dancers, ad- 
vanced from the choir stalls in the nave to before the 
high altar, where, to the soft, sweet strains of those 
violins the dance began, and continued for perhaps 
a third of an hour. Before the iron railing, upon the 
floor of the nave, hundred of men and women had 
been standing or sitting for a long time, waiting for 
this religious rite to begin. It was between five and 
six in the afternoon when the dance was on, and then 
the dark interior made it seem like the twilight hour. 
At first, in measured steps, the dancers advanced to 
the altar. They were probably from ten to twelve 
years of age, mere lads, but with graceful carriage, 
bright-blue eyes, and " Murillo heads." As they made 
their genuflections, their hats were removed, as, if in 
reverence, and they took positions like those for a 
square dance and sang a sacred song. Solemn and 
sweet, it penetrated the whole edifice. With eyes 
closed one could suppose it was a song from the heav- 
enly city. The artless singing of young children, like 
the warbling of songsters in a tropical forest, always 
impresses the heart as if heaven had come down a lit- 
tle nearer so that its melodies might reach human ears. 
The dancing was measured and slow at times, at times 
more rapid, but always rhythmical, always graceful, al- 
ways stately. With easy step the dancers approached 



THE CITY OF SEVILLE 61 

each other, joined hands, moved off to their proper 
places, parted and joined again, and every movement 
was to the Strains of deUcious, tender music, which 
did not cease for an instant while the dance continued. 
Even the castanets, which were almost incessant in 
their gentle clatter, disturbed no one and marred not 
the harmony of the occasion. It seemed religious and 
sacred. It was an event of gladness, a solemn procla- 
mation of joy, a paean of thanksgiving, a strophe of 
praise. 

When the music ceased, and the dancing stopped, 
I left this sacred place of dignified song and holy 
chords, and said to myself, almost aloud: "Are we 
quite so sure the Great Master Himself has not been 
here at this vesper hour, bending His ears in forgiving 
love to catch the symphonies of His little children?" 



IV.— THE MOSQUE AT CORDOVA. 

FROM SEVILLE to Madrid is a short distance 
upon the map, yet it measures three hundred 
and fifty-five miles. Cordova is at about sev- 
enty miles of that distance, and, while it is rather 
inconvenient for railway reasons to break the journey 
at Cordova, it is " expedient." Few travelers, how- 
ever, will feel that the dividend is great enough to en- 
courage spending the night at Cordova, because the 
city has innumerable mosquitoes and its chief hotel is 
not altogether attractive. One can view the Mosque 
in a few hours, and there is nothing more to study, ex- 
cept the river bridge, the old hags along the abomina- 
bly paved streets, and some poor driveways in the sub- 
urbs, which can be seen in a couple of hours. So it is 
better to push on the same evening toward Madrid 
instead of losing twenty^four hours there. Through 
express trains run once a day in this portion of the 
empire. 

The ride from Seville to Cordova is not unlike that 
from Granada to Seville, except that more hardy-wood 
forest trees abound, especially on nearing Cordova. 
Many hills are olive-crowned. An almost unexampled 
situation, at Almodovar del Rio, is covered with a cas- 
tle, which, with its detached tower one hundred and 
thirty feet high, suggests a great deal of the heroic 
period of Spain. It has a special interest in connection 
with Pedro the Cruel, who used this castle as a treas- 
ure-house in the Fourteenth Century. Grainfields, ful- 
ly ripe but apparently with no harvesters, olive trees 



THE MOSQUE AT CORDOVA 63 

and orange groves rapidly succeed each other, but the 
towns are few and far between. 

Cordova impressed me only as an old, forlorn, di- 
lapidated city. Here and there is a bit of freshness in 
a building and in a street, but, mainly, it is a place not 
even up to Granada in its business aspect, though 
there are a number of fair shops. When I recalled the 
splendor of the days during which it was the capital 
and often the seat of the Spanish court in the time of 
Columbus, and those princely days of the earlier 
Moorish occupancy, when it had nearly a million of 
inhabitants instead of fifty-seven thousand, some nine 
hundred good public baths, six hundred inns and un- 
told wealth, I was amazed at the extent of its decline 
and fall. In its palmy period it must have been sim- 
ply glorious: no common word could be used to de- 
scribe it. Even two thousand years ago it was a great 
city. Was not Seneca born there, and Lucon, the 
Stoic? A thousand years later it was the metropolis of 
Moorish Spain. There are marvels told of magnificent 
buildings at Cordova, which the Arabic writers de- 
clared outranked nearly all others of the world. " Cor- 
dova," exclaims De Amicis, the most eloquent Italian 
writer of his day, whom I have quoted before in these 
pages, *' the ancient pearl of the West, as the Arabian 
poets call it, the city of cities, Cordova of the thirty 
suburbs and three thousand mosques, which enclosed 
within her walls the greatest temple of Islam. Her 
fame extended throughout the East and obscured the 
glory of ancient Damascus. The faithful came from 
the most remote regions of Asia to the banks of the 
Guadalquiver, to prostrate themselves in the marvel- 
ous Mihrab of her Mosque, in the light of the thou- 
sand bronze lamps cast from the bells of the cathedrals 
of Spain. Hither flocked artists, savants and poets, 



64 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

from every part of the Mohammedan world, to her 
flourishing schools, immense libraries and the magnifi- 
cent courts of her Caliphs. Riches and beauty flowed 
in, attracted by the fame of her splendor. From here 
they scattered, eager for knowledge, along the coasts 
of Africa, through the schools of Tunis, Cairo, Bag- 
dad, Cufa, and even to India and China, in order to 
gather inspiration and records; and the poetry sung on 
the slopes of the Sierra Morena flew from lyre to lyre, 
as far as the valleys of the Caucasus, to excite the ar- 
dor for pilgrimages. The beautiful, powerful, wise 
Cordova, crowned with three thousand villages, 
proudly raised her white minarets in the midst of or- 
ange groves, and spread around the valley a volup- 
tuous atmosphere of joy and glory!" Where are all 
the evidences of such splendors now? In one lone and 
solitary, though magnificent, Mosque, and in one stout 
and ponderous Moorish bridge. But the former is 
worth a long journey to gaze upon, for it is fascinat- 
ingly beautiful. 

Like all other Spanish cities, I found Cordova as a 
municipality to be interesting chiefly in the early even- 
ing, when everybody, old and young, large and small, 
were on the sidewalks, either sipping beverages or 
walking out to see and to be seen. Girls, dressed gai- 
ly, some in brilliant green with green hats, talked their 
little nonsenses and the young men generally carried 
canes. Between the hours of nine and one in the even- 
ing, everybody who could went into some outdoor 
theatre, where the plays were short and upon the 
vaudeville order. In the hotel at which I stopped, the 
*' Hotel Suisse," doubtless the best in the place, there 
was much old mahogany furniture, delightful to the eye 
of furniture lovers. Every room contained a porous 
water jar, as used in Oriental countries, peculiarly 



r 




^ 



. 



THE MOSQUE AT CORDOVA 65 

adapted to keeping water cool for drinking purposes. 
I paced the street before the hotel and found it only 
seventeen feet wide. A mule in the garden pumped 
up water from a deep well into the receptacle which 
supplied the hotel, and he went round and round all 
day long, making a noise not wholly agreeable. The 
poorest families had flowers in their houses and win- 
dows, showing that they had never forgotten the tra- 
ditions of the Moors. 

The best view of Cordova itself is from the Moor- 
ish bridge, seven hundred and thirty feet long, with 
sixteen arches, which crosses the Guadalquiver. Its 
foundations are of Roman days. The two very ancient 
mills near the lower side of the bridge are quaint, but 
the walls of Cordova are still more indicative of age. 
The exterior of the Mosque is most majestic when 
seen from the bridge, uplifting lofty choir and belfry 
toward the heavens, and standing out as a silhouette 
against the background of the Sierra de Cordoba. 

Let us hasten to this Mosque, for in it lies Cor- 
dova's present wealth. It is so large and so magnifi- 
cent that one does not like to stand without, even in 
the lovely court, the Patio of Oranges, with its five 
fountains put there by Ben Oyah (in 737), its palmis, its 
fragrance of blossoms and flowers, and its sweet air of 
perfect repose. Perhaps no outside view of the struc- 
ture is quite so pretty as that from the left-hand clois- 
ter (as one approaches the Mosque) looking over this 
elegant court. How great the contrast between the 
miserable street without the wall and this glorious en- 
closure within! Formerly, as now, it must have 
seemed a transition in a moment of time from earth to 
heaven! There stands, by the gate of entrance, that 
charming bell-tower, three hundred feet above the 
ground, and we can judge from what it is how incom- 



66 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

parably more beautiful it must have been when it was 
in the form of a minaret, with gilded balls, open liHes 
of silver and golden pomegranates on its crown. Once 
there were nineteen gateways to the Mosque, corres- 
ponding with its nineteen aisles. Now there are three. 
It was the part of " Christian " art to chop up the 
Mosque into some forty-two smaller chapels, and to 
close up many gates, perhaps lest the devil should 
ride through them too freely! In doing this it almost 
spoiled the grandest Arabic place of worship in Eu- 
rope of Asia. I should rather have hung those despoil- 
ing architects of Saint Ferdinand than any of the 
Moors that were exiled from the city of their love. 

Once entering the Mosque, its fascination takes 
hold of the heart and soul. Columns — eight hundred 
and fifty of them — of marble, jasper, porphyry, brec- 
cia, stand up from floor to ceiling like the trees of a 
tropical forest. Some are smooth, some twisted; and 
they support double arches, the higher superimposed 
on the lower; the lower being constructed in that 
graceful horseshoe shape which is so characteristically 
Moorish. Red and black are the prevailing colors of 
the arches ; the columns are of every description of red 
and yellow, blue and green, black and brown. The 
larchwood roof was painted in red and gold; these col- 
ors have mostly disappeared, but sometimes one sees 
a ceiling in all the exquisiteness of its original beauty 
of eleven hundred years ago. St. Peter's at Rome is 
not larger than this palatial Mosque ; six hundred and 
more feet, one-seventh of a mile, must be traversed 
simply to cross it from end to end. It looks at first 
quite dark within— and surely such a " dim, religious 
light " best befits a temple of God, where prayers and 
not sermons are the conduits between worshipers 
and Jehovah — but gradually it seems lighter, and out 



THE MOSQUE AT CORDOVA 67 

of the gloom is evolved a semi-hallowed, semi-curious 
atmosphere which impresses one with unspeakable ad- 
miration. I do not think it possible for any man, even 
a barbarian, to enter the great Cordova Mosque and 
experience a feeling of disappointment, or one jot or 
tittle less than that of exalted reverence. Something 
about it grapples the heart and holds it by hooks 
of steel. Mentally you may wonder how such a struc- 
ture came to be; who could have designed it, who ex- 
ecuted it; and you may look for the worshipers that 
are not, and sigh that they have fled. But deep in the 
soul there arises the profoundest sentiment of hope, 
nay of certainty, that those who groped here after God 
could not have felt after Him altogether in vain. It 
cannot be possible that this was all a toy or a sham. It 
was a real building in which, as in Solomon's Temple, 
Jehovah was supposed to dwell in spirit and in truth, 
and who shall say that no Moor who worshiped hum- 
bly within its portals could gain the Kingdom of 
Heaven? 

The more I studied this grand Mosque, the more 
I was amazed at its architecture and the fitness of its 
several parts. Especially did I wonder over the chief 
chapel, the " Mihrab," with its axis toward Mecca, 
where the Koran was deposited, and where, as the 
most sacred place, "the Spirit of God rested." Its dome 
is of the shape of a pineapple, and its walls are covered 
with brilHant mosaics and Arabic inscriptions. Its 
ceiling is of white marble hollowed out like a shell. On 
the marble pavement below millions of pilgrims had 
bowed their knees. Mysterious as are the legends and 
the history of those strange wanderers of the African 
deserts, who settled so early in Cordova, still more 
mysterious to me was that burning desire to excel in 
the outward show of religion which impelled them to 



68 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

erect such gorgeous mosques in Spain; for Spain was 
far away from Mecca, the home of their greatest proph- 
et, and time enough had not elapsed to prove that 
the Moors were to be a permanent nation in the Iber- 
ian peninsula. However, one must now take it out in 
wondering, and he will wonder long and oft before he 
reaches a comprehension of the high aims or the won- 
derful attainments in arciiitectural skill of those old 
builders of the Eighth Century, who were so deter- 
mined to make at Cordova a "gate of Heaven." When 
all the lights were in those marble halls and under the 
larchwood roofs — " two hundred and eighty chande- 
liers, with seven thousand four hundred and twenty- 
five lamps " — so that the Arab poet could sing, " The 
gold shines from the ceiling like fire; it blazes like 
the lightning when it darts across the clouds;" when 
the crystals and arabesques gleamed, the jasper and 
porphyry glowed, and the network of interlacing arch- 
es quivered with the brightness of the rays from these 
chandeliers; when a thousand, or five thousand. Moors 
were kneeling on the Oriental rugs of all manner of 
patterns that covered the marble floor, what a specta- 
cle it must have been! I know of nothing in Orient or 
Occident, in Egypt, Greece, Rome, or Mexico, which 
could have compared with this extraordinary place of 
worship when in its perfection of architectural beauty. 
Over it a thousand years have now passed, and it re- 
mains to-day, even when partially spoiled, the best ex- 
isting monument to a wonderful set of poets, dreamers 
and religious enthusiasts, who dehghted to beheve 
their earth could be made, by mosques like these, a 
fitting forerunner to the greater Temple above. 



v.— MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT. 

THE SPANIARD who does not enjoy with 
keenest rehsh a Sunday bull-fight in the 
torro might some day make a good English- 
man or American, but he cannot be rated as a real 
Spaniard. I know that it has been stated that many 
persons of rank in Spain do not fancy their chief na- 
tional sport, but such must be hopelessly in the minor- 
ity. As to the middle classes, it will be a weary search 
to find a man or woman whose strings of happiness 
are not pulled a Httle tighter every time it is an- 
nounced that Mazantini, or Bombita, or some other 
toreador of high repute, will hold forth on the ensuing 
Sunday in the bull-ring, to prove again his vaunted 
courage in overcoming the fiercest bulls of the Duke 
of Veragua. 

While visiting Granada, a bull-fight was in pro- 
gress, but I had arrived too late to attend it. At Se- 
ville one had been scheduled for the following Sun- 
day and then the notice had been withdrawn. The 
reason assigned was that the " Governor's consent '' 
could not be obtained. But at Madrid, which has one 
of the largest of the two hundred or more bull-rings of 
Spain, there seems to be perpetual consent during the 
" season," which lasts from about the first of April to 
the first of October. Every Sunday the slaughter of 
bulls and horses goes on, and the city becomes gay 
with trappings and alive with people going to and 
from the so-called " circus." It is held in the after- 
noon, of course. Everyone is supposed to attend mass 



70 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

in the morning; the afternoon, from three to six-thirty, 
is given over to the one national sport, which even the 
king cannot frown down. It is said of King Al- 
fonso that he would like to substitute horse-racing 
for the bull-ring, especially since he saw the latter for 
the first time during the week of his coronation. Yet 
even the life of Alfonso, should it be protracted to 
eighty years, is unlikely to outlast the love for the 
cruel sport which has become ingrained in the national 
character. The particulars of a bull-fight, however, 
must come later in this chapter. 

Madrid is a beautiful, even splendid, city. It is a 
great city. It has no suburbs, because of the extreme 
aridness of the country around, but its parks, roadways 
and residences will rank with those of any other capital 
in Europe, and the equipages of those who ride out in 
the afternoon outvie those of London, Paris or Berlin. 
I was surprised beyond measure to find Madrid so Eu- 
ropeanized and so up-to-date. The country is behind 
the age in everything, but Madrid is not, a few things 
like bull-fights excepted. It is in itself a New Spain, 
and as totally unlike the Spain of Cordova, or of Gran- 
ada, as the vessels now crossing the Atlantic are un- 
like the old caravels of Christopher Columbus. 

Madrid is located high up on a plateau, 2,130 feet 
above the sea level, and, when first planted there by 
Philip II., was in the midst of an arid region. He de- 
sired to have a new capital in the centre of Spain and 
he chose a desolate spot. Trees were planted by him 
and thrived. But in time it was thought they gave 
shelter to birds which destroyed the meagre grain- 
fields; so they were cut down and gave place to the 
desert again. Now attention is given anew to forestry, 
and in the city there are acres of trees, most of them 
stunted, however, and not vigorous. Outside of the 



MADRID AND A BULI.-FIGHT 71 

city there are a few spots only where trees are grow- 
ing. All around is barrenness, like a boy's playground. 
It is a pretty, but extremely modern, custom on Arbor 
Day (in Spain it is on March 30) for hundreds of boys 
to go out of the city to the bare plain and plant each a 
tree, and with it chant a song. Perhaps in a century 
more the Madrid desert will bloom and " blossom as 
the rose," but I am told it is a bleak spot in winter, 
while in summer the earth is parched and yields herb- 
age and harvests only by irrigation. I am not sure 
that the vicinity of Madrid can ever look to the eye 
like the farms in and about Seville, much less like the 
gardens in the valleys of the Xenil and the Darro at 
Granada; nevertheless, irrigation will do wonders, and 
irrigation is now a problem which is being pressed 
anew before the public attention in that desolate re- 
gion. 

Madrid has clean streets, fine public and business 
buildings, plentiful cafes, good hotels, an active, push- 
ing people, and one of the noblest picture galleries in 
the world. It has some dilapidated omnibuses, drawn 
by mules, to keep one reminded that he is in Spain, 
but has few other things in common with the Andalu- 
sian or Valencian provinces. Its business buildings 
are much like those of Paris, usually five stories in 
height. Rich grandees must abound, to judge from 
the style and number of their handsome turnouts. 
For meals there is a plentiful supply of fish, chickens, 
eggs, grapes, oranges, dates and figs, and these, with 
wines, predominate in many of the markets, although 
the meats are not bad, and, unlike in Paris, I never 
left a hotel dinner in Spain hungry. Artichokes, for 
which Americans do not care, seem to be a favorite 
dish, and the Malaga grapes are large and luscious. 
All the natives drink wines, as in France and Italy. 



72 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

The *' Val de Penas " is probably the best of the local, 
ordinary wines, but Spain has some good water. The 
coffee is generally wretched. I missed most in Mad- 
rid those pretty patios, which were noticed in the chap- 
ter on Seville, but this is only to say that Madrid is 
Continental Europe and not the Spain of the Middle 
Ages. The prevailing color of the people's dress upon 
the street is black, as in Paris and London, and this, 
too, is another proof that the city is modern. 

One genuine relic of the old Spain, always con- 
spicuous, is the style of large, high carts with oxen 
pulling them. These enormous carts hold immense 
loads, and, on the asphalt pavement, after a rain or the 
daily street sprinkling, the oxen slip, being unshod, 
and it is a common thing to see one of a pair strug- 
gling to rise while his mate peacefully waits by his 
side. There are lotteries, as the government counte- 
nances themi, and, as in Italy, the poor people chiefly 
supply the ticket venders with the purchase price. 
There are many fine shops and a large supply of thea- 
tres. All the good theatres being closed in June, I 
went one evening to the Japanese playhouse. I went 
at ten minutes past nine and found it would not open 
till an hour later. In half an hour after it did open the 
singing and dancing were over, and the audience re- 
tired to allow for a second audience. It was said that 
the same performance would be repeated again and 
again until long past midnight. Andalusian girls, who 
are reputed to be the best of all Spanish dancers, gave 
four of their dances to the miusic of the guitar, them- 
selves using castanets decorated with ribbons. They 
were dressed with much elegance and danced in per- 
feet rhythm and well-defined grace. The smaller and 
poorer cafes were always full; the larger and better 
ones were empty part of the day, but full in the late 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 73 

evening. In serving coffee, the waiter comes around 
with a large can, much like a milk can, turns the spigot 
and starts the coffee running, and when you have suf- 
ficient you shut off the supply yourself. Then he places 
the can back upon the stove to keep the contents 
warm. 

De Amicis speaks of the great plaza of the city, 
the Puerta del Sol, as "3. stupendous sight!" I did not 
find it so, but his superb descriptions always make us 
forgive his exaggerations. And it is true that this 
large square is the vortex of travel, trade and gossip 
for thousands of people daily. A busier and livelier 
scene it is rare to find in any city. It is quite as bril- 
liant at eleven, or even twelve, o'clock at night as at 
the noon or twilight hour. Some hold that it rivals 
the Venetian San Marco as a centre of daily activity, 
and this is true, although there is no reason for a com- 
parison of the two places. This is simply the city's 
centre, where all day long and until midnight a mamr 
moth stream of humanity presses every whither. Ten 
large streets pour into and out of it, and some of the 
largest of the hotels are also located upon it. I stopped 
at the '' Hotel de la Paz," a fashionable and expensive 
place, well-kept, not to be compared with the larg- 
est London or New York hotels in elegance, but, on 
the whole, comfortable and satisfactory. 

One of the street sights of which I never tired was 
that of the mules coming in from the country pulling 
loads tandem. Another, the soldiers from the quarters 
of the King on horseback, with white plumes in front 
and black plumes at the back of their curious hats, 
purple trappings and white trousers; an attractive 
spectacle. Referring to mules reminds me that the 
omjiibuses were usually drawn by three of them 
abreast, and they often received unmerciful beatings. 

5 



74 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

In Madrid you meet all sorts and conditions of 
peasants from the surrounding districts. Their dress 
is always peculiar, but so much less so than in Tangier, 
or even in Granada or Seville, that I was not as much 
i.nerested in them as the guide-books had led me to 
suppose I should be. Nor did I see many of the 
street singers, so frequent in other portions of Spain. 
The Madrid people aim for a higher class of music, 
more after that of Paris and Vienna; in fact, when I 
entered the city, I learned that Paderewski had just 
closed an engagement, and that until that week excel- 
lent opera had been on the " amusement " list for some 
months previous. 

Of all the pretty, wholly modern cathedrals I have 
visited, that of the Neustra Senora de la Almudena 
easily stands at the head; I mean in the interior; the 
exterior is plain and not striking. For symmetry of 
lines and pure chastity of elegance, it affected my sense 
of taste in the most pleasing manner. There are dain- 
ty frescoes, beautiful figures of the Apostles in granite, 
splendidly carved windows and doors. It is so new 
that the guide-books scarcely refer to it, but it would 
be a sad mistake to see Madrid and not enter it, es- 
pecially near the noonhour when the sunshine, shin- 
ing through the rich glasses in the dome, floods the 
interior with an exquisite charm. It is quite near the 
Royal Palace. 

There is also a church of San Francisco the Grand, 
which was intended to be the national pantheon, whose 
interior is full of color, and where some of the great 
men of Spanish history are buried. Singularly enough 
however, neither here nor in any other spot where they 
can be definitely located, are the remains of Cervantes, 
Herrera, Velasquez or Murillo. Honored by the whole 
world, no one knows their final resting places. 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 75 

The Royal Palace was closed to sightseers, and so 
I could not enter it. It was said to be closed because 
of the indiscretion of some foreign visitors — Ameri- 
cans, of course! — who, in passing through its rooms, 
used some very plain language derogatory of some- 
thing which had met their sight. From an outside 
view (not as one approaches it from the city proper, 
but from the other side, which is its real front,) it is 
massive, colossal, wonderfully impressive. It occupies 
the site of an older palace, burned down in 1734, and 
is probably far larger and more imposing than that 
was. It overlooks the valley of the Manzanares — an 
insignificant stream in summer — and, including the 
superstructure, is at its highest point one hundred and 
sixty-five feet above the ground, and with sides five 
hundred feet long. That it cost about fifteen millions 
of dollars one need not doubt, as it is built of material 
durable enough to stand unchanged for a thousand 
years. There are said to be superb rooms in it with 
superior ornamentations. 

One day I saw the King and the late Queen Re- 
gent, but this will be more freely spoken of in the 
chapter on " Glimpses of Some European Potentates." 

One of the great world-sights at Madrid is the 
Prado Gallery, taking its name from the wide prome- 
nade of the city, which is immense in breadth, bor- 
dered by two colossal fountains and by avenues of 
trees, and is where the people gather every afternoon 
when not in the beautiful park to the east of it. The 
Prado promenade v/as once a meadow-farm in the days 
of Vega and other Spanish poets, and, long after, the 
choicest place for walking and driving in the city. The 
Prado picture gallery, having, it is claimed, " three 
hundred and thirty-seven masterpieces," is at the 
starting point of this promenade, and, while begun 



76 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

more than a hundred and twenty-five years ago, was 
only completed in the time of Ferdinand VII., fifty 
years later. The treasures of art it contains are an- 
cient, dating from the days of Charles V. and Philip 
IL, and to say they are invaluable is not to express the 
enthusiasm one feels in coming suddenly upon so 
many of the immortal works of Raphael, Velasquez, 
Murillo, Van Dyck, Titian, and all the old masters; 
pictures which one has seen copied over and over 
again, without knowing, perhaps, that the originals 
are in Madrid. '' The day on which one enters for 
the first time a gallery like that of Madrid," says De 
Amdcis, " becomes a marked one in the life of a man. 
It is an important event like marriage, the birth of a 
child, or the coming into an inheritance; for one feels 
the effects of it tO' the day of his death." How true that 
is! One's first day in the Dresden gallery, the Louvre, 
or the Pitti — can it ever be forgotten? Of the Prado I 
did not see enough; two visits to it were wholly too 
brief to view more than a tithe of the riches in 
store there, especially of the great Spanish painters. In 
memory I cannot now call off the names of half the no- 
ble specimens of those masters which took my fancy 
in. the Prado. Of course I cannot forget the several 
" Conceptions " by Murillo, each a gem, and his still 
more lovely '' Children of the Shell;" nor his "Vir- 
gin with the Rosary;" nor his '' St. Elizabeth of Hun- 
gary Tending the Sick Poor." Then the " Surrender, 
of Breda," by Velasquez, his " For^e of Vulcan," and 
his equestrian portraits — they live to-day in remem- 
brance as vividly as when first seen in their originals. 
Then the '* Charles Fifth on Horseback " of Titian, 
and his "Philip Second;" the "Madonna with the 
Fish," and the " Cardinal " of Raphael; the "Annun- 
ciation " by Fra Angelico, and scores and scores of 



MADRID AND A BUbL-FIGHT 77 

beautiful specimens by the artists Reni, Veronese, 
Claude de Lorraine and others. 

It is certain that only in Madrid can Muritlo and 
Velasquez be studied with minuteness, and there I 
became convinced the latter was the greater delinea- 
tor, while the former was the painter of most heart. 
" The one an angel, the other an eagle," says a critic; 
and he has the right conception. Murillo always 
painted sweet faces of virgins and cherubs. Only Fra 
Angelico could be more delicate, but even he could not 
be more humanly spiritual. Velasquez soared high, 
for his empyrean was above those of most masters, but 
Murillo came down and touched the soul. He played 
on the chords of human tenderness, passion, devotion, 
and such spring out of the deepest feelings. Perhaps 
if I had to own but two great religious paintings in 
the world, and could really have them in possession, 
they would be the " Sistine Madonna" of Raphael, at 
Dresden, and the " Children of the Shell " of Murillo 
at Madrid. May I add in parenthesis that, after paint- 
ings not distinctly religious, I should be apt to go to 
the Tate Gallery in London and be content there to 
take — but how difficult would be the selection! — my 
first choice. 

The question is often propounded when one has 
walked through such a gallery of mediaeval religious 
art as that of the Prado, " Do you really enjoy the old 
masters as much as the new ones? Do you care as 
much for Da Vinci, Veronese, Carrucci, Murillo, Vel- 
asquez, et id omne genus, as for Reynolds, Gains- 
borough, Corot, Turner, Watts, Millais, Leighton, 
Bouguereau, and a hundred others of the modern 
school?" My answer always is: " They cannot be com- 
pared." One class painted chiefly for the devotional 
classes. They met the wants of the deeply religious in 



78 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

a day when all that was learned of the Bible was 
through paintings of Christ, the Madonna and the 
saints. One desires to see them to-day, for the best of 
them are so pure and holy that they awaken the pro- 
foundest feelings of the soul. But later painters are, 
as creative artists, equally great. They present sub- 
jects, poses, expressions, tints, combinations of 
thought, never dreamed of by Middle Age recluses. 
The two kinds may be equally enjoyed. As true relig- 
ion can never die out of the world, so it is certain that 
the fame of the earlier giants of painting will never 
pass away. 

I am afraid I have not given above even an ade- 
quate hint in briefest language of the pleasure the 
works of Velasquez gave me in this, their native home, 
where the best output of his versatile genius is exhib- 
ited. I expected to find delight in the Murillos, but 
was unprepared to see so much to admire in Velas- 
quez. On the w^hole, what a remarkable delineator 
of poses he was! How his men, women, horses, even 
their attire, or trappings, stand out in glowing per- 
spective, and with what absolute fidelity to life and 
truth each characteristic of the object painted appears! 
Certainly he had no equal in Spain for putting exactly 
what was before him on canvas. And his pictures 
are unforgettable. You may not remember always 
just the differences between some of the Madonnas 
of Andrea del Sarto and some of Murillo's Virgins, 
but you can never forget the " Infanta Margaret," the 
" Don Baltasar on Horseback," the " Baltasar at the 
Age of Six," the "Maids of Honor," the "^sop," or 
the " Tapestry Weavers," of Velasquez. To see the 
Prado is to see Velasquez at his very best, and that is 
to see works of art, the exceeding beauty of which will 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 79 

never perish from the memory of mankind, even if the 
canvases themselves shall pass away. 

The Armory of the heroic period of Spain, located 
within the Palace grounds, is another of the wonderful 
sights of Madrid. It is less extensive that that of the 
Tower of London, but historically more interesting. 
The cavalry of Philip II.'s day seem ready to dash at 
you, full armored, with spears in hand. The cross- 
bows, cuirasses, helmets, lances, muskets, ensigns, col- 
lars, bucklers — these are as real as if one saw them in 
their first splendors on the " Field of the Cloth of 
Gold." The actual armors worn by Charles V. and 
Philip II. are there before you; the very swords of 
those monarchs, and of Cortez, Gonzales and Pizarro 
are there, as are trophies from the Turks, necklaces 
and crowns of Gothic princesses, saddles of Moor:, 
Ottomans, Saracens. You see these as in a dream. As 
you look at them the ages unfold, the scroll of history 
of the period from Ferdinand and Isabella to that of 
Ferdinand VII. unrolls, and you behold anew charac- 
ters written in blood on every page. Columbus, Philip, 
Charles, Ferdinand, Pizarro, Cortez, are real flesh and 
blood; they saw, touched, used these same accoutre- 
ments, instruments, swords, crowns, crosses, saddles, 
shields, armor; the silk, the gold and the silver, the 
bronze and the iron ! Turn where you will in that col- 
lection, every bit of it is historic and real; cold, cruel, 
but real! It tells us, as no books can, that there was a 
time when Spain was not craven, not an infant in 
swaddling clothes, not a nation in the adolescence of 
second childhood, as now, but strong, brave, masterful, 
conquering, and, when most religious, never otherwise 
than remorselessly pagan! 

But now for the bull-fight, the real sport of all 
Spain. It is said there are two hundred and fifty-two 



80 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY- LANDS 

bull-rings in Spain; if so, it proves how strong a hold 
this style of bloodshed has on this curious semi-Latin 
race. My fellow-travelers and myself ''coached" from 
the main square of the city, the magnificent Puerta del 
Sol, to the Place de Toros (the place of the bulls), and 
the style of our conveyance attracted attention, even 
though unusual sights abounded daily. Our coach, 
seating twenty-four on top, had just taken a prize in 
a public display of carriages, and it was drawn by 
eight mules (four in the last rank, three before them 
and one in the lead), whose tails were elaborately dec- 
orated in yellow and black Spanish ribbons. The man 
who pulled the reins over those mules said little, but 
understood his calling. Passing the Chamber of 
Deputies, beside which was the residence of the late 
Sagasta, we followed the Alcala and the Paseo de Re- 
coletos, where we drove to see more of the city. Thou- 
sands of people were driving and walking, and, as we 
passed them all, not one failed to look up and sm.ile 
at the coaching foreigners on their way to the sport. 
We did not suppose the passengers themselves 
aroused the mirth, but those numerous, fine-Hmbed, 
well-groomed, handsome mules, which kept up a fast 
gait under the crack of the whip, and which seem.,ed to 
say with a lordly emphasis : " We are now pulling a 
load of curious foreigners who are going to patronize 
our national sport." 

The Place de Toros is on the northeast edge of the 
city, and various streets lead up to it. But the main 
thoroughfare toward it traversed by the public is the 
Alcala, which is lined with fine residences. The scene 
of the bull-fight is a circular arena, in an immense 
building, externally of v/ood, within partly of stone, 
without windows, about six stories high, the seats ar- 
ranged tier above tier as in the old Roman amphithea- 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 81 

tres. The seating capacity is supposed to be ten thou- 
sand. Outside, the structure looks yellowish and plain. 
At a distance one might think it was an enormous gas 
reservoir, were not the national flag floating from the 
roof. And overhead, within, was the blue sky. The 
seats were full of well-dressed men and women. Fans 
were rustling and people talking. There was an air of 
expectancy. Surely the unusual must have called to- 
gether so fine and so immense an assembly! One can 
hardly believe this is but the arena of a bull-ring, where 
every week the same sport goes on and similarly 
large, patient crowds gather and anxiously await 
the hour of half-past three in the afternoon. That arena 
is tremendous in itself, which is the first noticeable 
thing, perhaps, to a stranger. There is plenty of room in 
it for bloody combats. The first circular barrier around 
it is nearly as high as a man, with a lower elevation in 
front, to permit of a hasty jump over the wall by any 
of the toreros who might be hard pushed by the bull. 
Behind this high barrier is another, still higher. Bulls 
have been known to jump the first stone wall and land 
upon the elevation above it. There is a walk between 
the first and the second barriers, and here stand 
guards who are ready to give aid to the injured. Seats 
rise back of these, row upon row, without backs. There 
are some boxes built of wood, for families, one of them 
for the royal family, and finally there is a gallery of 
wood above all. Those boxes contain the most ex- 
pensive seats. Officers, wealthy men, men of note, 
rent these by the season. On one side of the circus 
the sun shines. Here the charges are less than in the 
shade, and here on some days the heat is exceedingly 
fierce. On a few of the private boxes, on the sunny 
side, awnings are outstretched. I had a seat about 
one-third up the height of the building, say thirty feet 



82 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

above the arena, and the cost was eight pesetas — about 
a dollar and twelve cents. Not as expensive as one 
might suppose for a seat in the shade ; yet the aggre- 
gate sale of all the seats must make up a large sum to 
be divided among the actors, after the bulls and horses 
which are slain and the usual other expenses 
are paid for. My friends and I arrived at ten minutes 
past three; there were twenty minutes to spare. In 
the meanwhile, many people were promenading in the 
arena as carelessly as if no blood were to be shed. 

I thought at once of the old Colosseum at Rome. I 
saw in mental vision the same circular arena, the same 
ascending series of seats filled with people, the same 
promenading before the circus opened, the same ex- 
pectancy on every native's face of '' a good time com- 
ing." Spain does not differ in its bull-ring from the 
cruel Roman sports of Vespasian. The same Latin 
race still hungers for the sight of combats with beasts. 
But the Romans fought wild beasts and both sides had 
an equal chance. Spaniards prefer to fight tame brutes, 
which have little show, from the backs of dumb ani- 
mals that are blindfolded and have no show at all! Of 
the two, the Romans were by far the more valor- 
ous. 

There is no embargo on visiting all parts of the 
building before the performance begins. One may 
walk beyond the arena doors and see the bulls in their 
iron cages — none of them over five years old — ^won- 
dering what they are there for, and dilapidated stage 
horses, peacefully munching hay, not so much as 
dreaming of the fate in store for them. There also are 
the espadas, who have each selected his bull to slay 
and this privilege of selection they are supposed to ex- 
ercise according to their valor. 

Five minutes before the opening moment the band 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 83 

plays, and this is the signal to clear the arena. Men 
retire quickly and find their seats. Pink programs are 
scanned to make sure just what " brave " fellow is to 
kill the first bull. The trumpet sounds. In a twink- 
ling one of the doors, or gates, to the arena opens, and 
in come the two guards, '' knights of the circus," on 
horseback, with plumed hats, black mantles and 
swords, who make the circuit of the ring in opposite 
directions, to see if everything is in readiness. They 
are greeted with hearty shouts of applause. Then fol- 
low, through the same door, all the toreros in full 
dress, six on horseback, thirteen on foot, and other at- 
tendants of various sorts. How beautiful are their dec- 
orations — scarlet, yellow, green; bespangled with gold 
and silver fringes, filagrees and trinkets. Those at the 
head are called espadas, because they are to dispatch 
the bulls. They receive from one thousand five hun- 
dred to seven thousand five hundred dollars per an- 
num for their ghastly butcheries. The band is playing 
and the step is to the rhythm of the music. It is a 
thrilHng momicnt, for these gala-day costumes are en- 
trancing, the music is lively, and the people are thun- 
dering approval. So many of them are handsome 
men, w^hose physique is shown to best advantage in 
these semi-royal costum.es. Here are the capeadores, 
who infuriate the bulls with their red cloaks; the ban- 
derilleros, who deftly place the darts in the back of the 
bull's neck to further infuriate him; the picadores, who 
are on horseback, carry long lances and usually receive 
the roughest of the attacks. Each is dressed accord- 
mg to the custom of his calling. The whole company^ 
were the King present, w^ould stop before his box, sa- 
lute, and asked permission to allow the first bull to 
enter. As the King was not there, the company I have 
described came before the Alcalde's (the mayor's) box, 



84 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

and presumably received from him, or from his repre- 
sentative, the privilege sought. I was too intent gaz- 
ing at the colors of the glorious spectacle and at the 
spectators to discern just what did happen, but I 
quickly noticed in the rear of the procession six gaily 
caparisoned mules, with their attendants, and knew 
they were to drag out, on a canter, each dying or dead 
brute, whether horse or bull. They were infinitely bet- 
ter groomed and fed than the starvelings which the 
bulls were about to gore to death. 

The circuit of the ring is scarcely made, when in a 
twinkling most of the toreros retire. The espadas as 
quickly jump over the first stone wall. Only two pica- 
dores on horseback, with lances in hand, and a few 
capeadores, with red cloaks ready to wave, are left in 
the arena. Almost before one can see who or what 
they are, another gate opens, and a bull bounces into 
the ring! He has already one or two pairs of darts 
transfixed in his neck, and they are gay with ribbons. 
They have angered him and he comes in on a plunge. 
Then he stops, for the sight is new to his eyes. He 
sees a vast arena, not the meadows on which he has 
been feeding near the paradise of Seville; ten thousand 
people, not olive trees, nor harvest-covered hills; stone 
barriers, not the customary fences of cacti. His eyes 
slowly take in all these sights. Then he discerns white, 
red, or brown horses, with men on their backs. The 
first bull to witness this strange scene is of fine stature 
and appearance, rotund, graceful, full of dash and 
herculean in strength. He stands still for a few mo- 
ments only, to take in the situation. Then he makes a 
dash for the nearest horse. Poor fellow, bHndfolded 
on the side toward the bull, what can he do in self- 
defence? He does not even see his antagonist. The 
picador endeavors to arrest that first mad onset with 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 85 

the point of his lance, but it may as well be a straw 
aimed at a rhinoceros. In the twinkling of an eye the 
bull's sharp horns have ripped up the horse and 
thrown him over, rider and all. Then he dashes, in a 
moment of time, at the second horse, and tears out his 
entrails as completely as if a surgeon's knife had taken 
ten minutes to open the body! 

The excitement is now too intense for words. 
There is an audible ''Oh-h-h-h!" and that is all. The 
capeadores have rushed forward, and are frantically 
waving their cloaks, and now the bull dashes at them, 
but they are too dexterous to be harmed. They step 
to the right or left, while the bull dashes into the 
cloak, and then stands stock still, amazed that it is only 
a piece of cloth. My own eyes follow the poor, gored 
horses more than they do the men. The bull is un- 
hurt, but both horses are on their sides. One does 
not rise again. His saddle and bridle are removed, and 
he is left to die. The other arises upon his feet, and 
slowly hobbles out through the door of the arena. The 
opening in his body is to be sewed up, and he is to 
come back for the next round, that another bull may 
complete that work of horrible destruction so fright- 
fully begun. Here is where the barbarous cruelty of 
the bull-fight appears. It does not consist in the dan- 
ger to which the men on foot or on horse are exposed, 
for this is rarely great ; nor in the actual sacrifice of the 
bull at the end, for he is never badly wounded until the 
final thrust is given, which takes his life, and which 
is not worse than the common mode of killing animals 
in an abattoir. The cruelty is in the goring and dis- 
emboweling of horses. They have no chance to es- 
cape; no opportunity even to see their enemy when the 
onset is made. While most of them are broken-down 
beasts to whom death is a blessing, the manner of their 



86 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

taking off is so utterly abhorrent to those whose feel- 
ings are refined and sensitive that I have never ceased 
to wonder, since I saw the '' sport," how rational be- 
ings could enjoy the spectacle. 

The first bull now stands still again. He is almost 
in the centre of the arena. He gazes steadily at the 
red cloaks, as if pondering over what his next course 
shall be. One banderillero comes forward, with two ar- 
rows bearing yellow streamers of paper, and approach- 
es him, and still the bull hesitates to move. In a twink- 
ling those two arrows are thrown, simultaneously, into 
the folds of his neck, one from each hand. The bull 
does not seem to notice them, unless to give a slight 
toss of his head. Another banderillero comes up and 
throws two pink arrows into his neck near the same 
spot. By this time the animal has decided. He rushes, 
not at the banderilleros, but at the cloaks of the capea- 
dores who stand a little farther away, and again and 
again he butts his head against those harmless cloaks. 
Now, by the hands of other banderilleros, two green ar- 
rows go to the mark, and then two blue ones. This 
makes ten arrows in all, each sticking out from the 
neck, five on each side. They sting, and as he moves 
and shakes his head, they keep waving up and down, 
and infuriate him the more. Blood is running from 
both sides of the neck; he looks weary, but strong for 
fight. Thus far there has been no strained excitement 
in the audience, except at the first attack upon the 
horses, but calm suspense. The audience probably 
desires to see the bull rush on the capeadores so vig- 
orously that they must jump over the stone walls for 
their lives, but, somehow, he suddenly loses courage. 
He loses heart. Like some men in battle, grandly he- 
roic when first under fire, he has all at once surren- 
dered his daring. 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 87 

It was apparent that this bull must now be finished, 
and a new and braver one take his place. So the es- 
pada comes upon the scene, bows, and we know the 
time of the finish has arrived. In this instance his 
name is Quinito. Those who knov/ him feel a glow of 
enthusiasm, expressed by some in words, by more in 
silence. In one hand is a sword, in the other a small 
piece of red cloth upon a cane. He moves steadily 
toward the bull, who now puts eyes squarely upon 
him, but does not move. The capeadores drop back 
on either side of the bull, perhaps twenty yards away, 
and the two giants are alone, face to face, not m.ore 
than five yards from each other. The espada is not a 
giant in size; on the contrary he looks, small in stature, 
but his previous deeds have made of him a Goliath in 
the eyes of the people. To me it seems as if Quinito 
is taking his life in his hands, as he stands alone before 
this bull, but long practice has made him sure of his 
victim. Every eye is now fastened upon him, and he 
knows it. The ladies are ready to pronounce him a 
god when he has achieved this day's first honors. The 
cloth is- waved. The bull makes a spurt towards it, 
retreats, stands still, gazes. The espada teases him 
with the cloth, but he moves not. It appears to me, 
meditating as I did upon the tragic scene, as if the 
bull must realize his position and be preparing for 
death. Does he also meditate? Does he realize? The 
time is now up. Not a voice, not a murmur, not a rus- 
tle is to be heard. The bull makes what is his last 
plunge, not toward Quinito but toward the red cloth, 
and does it, not rapidly, but deliberately and slowly. 
The sword has been aimed, and, as he moves forward 
and the espada once more steps aside, Quinito plunges 
it into the bull's neck. A misadventurous thrust. The 
sword has struck a bone and stopped. The espada 



88 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

releases his hold from it, and, with a toss of the bull's 
head, the sword springs out of the wound and is upon 
the ground. An attendant runs for it, hands it back 
to its owner, and again the same performance is re- 
peated. The bull charges once more. It is his last 
forward dash. As the espada moves out of the way, 
his hand pushes in the sword up to the hilt, and the 
proud animal halts — forever. It is a majestic moment. 
There is blood flowing from those wounds and from 
the mouth. That second thrust is mortal. It has pen- 
etrated to the region of the heart. But the animal 
stands as if transfixed, as if triumphant over death. 
He simply quivers. His whole frame shakes as an 
aspen. And still he stands. A tremendous spectacle! 
I have never felt before such a thrill of emotion in the 
presence of a death-scene of any mere animal. Were 
that bull struck by lightning, he could not be more 
riveted to the spot. He stands, though his eyes look 
glazed. He should fall, but he stands — grandly 
stands! A moment and his eyes begin to close. The 
trembling becomes violent; his body sways from side 
to side. Then he comes down upon his knees, upon 
his breast. He is down, dying, though not dead. 
Time does not permit the management to allow the 
animal to die, so an attendant drives a sharp sword 
deep into his forehead to finish him ofif quickly, and 
then the band plays, the ladies wave fans and hand- 
kerchiefs, the men huzza and many rise to their feet 
and shout. All is confusion and joyousness; there are 
no tears. Now the espada makes on foot the circuit 
of the arena, bowing and smiling; in a twinkling a gate 
is opened, the mules enter and drag out the bull and, 
a moment later, the one dead horse. New picadores 
come in on chargers, ready for new slaughter; the oth- 
er gate opens and in plunges a new bull — and I leave 



MADRID AND A BULL-FIGHT 89 

the scene! I cannot submit my nerves and eyes to a 
new strain upon them of the butchery of the horses. 
I could see another bull act his death-part before an 
espada, but I dare not watch the cruelty to those 
horses. 

Afterwards I learned that the succeeding five bulls 
successively played varying parts, some acting much 
more bravely than the first, and some being mere cow- 
ards, and that in all ten horses were sacrificed, and 
one picador was badly injured. Personally I wit- 
nessed none of these later scenes. 

Bad as this bull-fight was, demoralizing as such 
brutal dramas must inevitably be, when I reflect that 
they were common enough in Rome itself in the be- 
ginning of the century just past, and that bear-baiting 
in Queen EHzabeth's day was quite as cruel, I rejoice 
that the world in general has moved forward so much 
during recent years, and that it is only a question of a 
century or so more when Spaniards and even Turks 
must emerge from their love for the horrible in tor- 
ture, and when all humanity shall arise sufficiently out 
of barbarism to make it a crime to inflict cruelty on 
any living being. 

It was a gladsome moment when we mounted 
coaches, took fresh air, and moved on jauntily through 
the magnificent Park de Madrid, the city's finest 
breathing place. There were so many people there 
who must have preferred the park to the circus that I 
regained hope for the future. Thousands of walkers 
and riders were enjoying the trees and flowers and the 
brilliant sunshine. Madrid is always pretty in the af- 
ternoon on any of her boulevards, and this day was 
one of many I saw in Spain when there were sweet 
marriage songs, with the heavens and the earth as 
bride and bridegroom. 



VI.— THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW. 

AS A RELIC of old Spain in the palmy days of 
Philip 11. — that monster who was such a 
coward; whose iniquities, however, had so 
much to do with revolutionizing Europe and pre- 
paring the way for the Reformation — the Escorial is 
one of the best examples of Spanish darkness, despair 
and " grandeur of wickedness." As a forerunner of New 
Spain, Barcelona is the highest type of awakened com- 
mercial greatness. Let us look for a little at these two 
centres of blackness and light, of darkness and dawn. 

The Escorial — who does not shiver as he thinks of 
it? I remember as a boy looking over that now long 
out-of-date work, Sears' "Wonders of the World," and 
wondering what could have put it into the heart of any 
man to build that crazy collection of prison-cells, on 
such a mammoth scale, with such apparent exterior 
magnificence, in a region said to be so barren that no 
one but a Philip IL would have chosen it for his lonely 
home. I never dreamed then that I should be so for- 
tunate as to tread its dismal courts, and see with my 
own eyes the very bedroom, too small for the chamber 
of a beggar, where Philip spent his last hours, and 
died without a friend to shed a tear over him. But the 
ambitions of a traveler take one into strange places, 
sometimes, and so it happened that I peered into that 
wonderful Escorial. I am not sorry, but it left in mem- 
ory no charms to lead me to wish to see it again. 

To reach the village of Escorial — there is now a 
village of that name before the portals of the Palace, 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 91 

having a population of over five thousand — requires a 
railway journey of about thirty miles from Madrid^ 
and a half-mile ride further in an omnibus or carriage. 
It is north of west of the metropolis, and the views 
obtained in reaching it, as the railway ascends more 
than twelve hundred feet, are exceedingly interesting, 
being, first, of Madrid, and then of the lonely sur- 
rounding hills. The latter are mostly treeless and 
form a sombre and curious landscape. Philip first 
built a monastery and church on the Escorial site, and 
then decided it was the best spot for his private resi- 
dence. No doubt the historian is correct who insists 
that Philip was so afraid of mankind that he deter- 
mined to perch, like an eagle, on a rocky eyrie, where 
he could see far away and be out of reach of all his 
kinsmen and advisers, except as they might send mes-r 
sengers to him with tidings of "the news from the 
Netherlands." Here he located, about 1570, long be- 
fore it was finished. It was in 1584, a quarter of a 
century after the building was fully planned, when the 
final stone was put upon the dome of the church, 
which is within the Palace limits. Here he resided 
when he sent the ill-fated Spanish Armada to wrest the 
commercial supremacy from England (1588), and here 
he died on September 13, 1598, seventy-one years of 
age, but twice as old if judged by the morbid yet tre- 
mendous activity of his long and cruel reign. 

The Escorial cannot be seen as one enters the vil- 
lage. When reached it is personified gloominess with- 
in and without. The exterior is of an ugly stone, as 
cold and forbidding as was the hand that reared it. 
Seen from a distance, when on the railway and from a 
height, it does have a princely air, so that it must have 
merits even in point of architecture. I know of no 
short description which fits it better, as thus seen from 



92 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

say five miles away, than this of Mrs. Pitt Byrne: "The 
grand and gloomy fabric towers over the rocky desert, 
a monument of solidity, too melancholy to be proud, 
too dignified to be defiant, but calmly conscious of its 
iron strength, and impressing beholders with a con- 
viction of its indestructibility. ... It seems to 
stand with sullen determination there, where it was 
placed, in the very heart of the Sierra, stone of its 
stone, and strong of its strength, a giant among 
giants ; for, strange to say, its proportions suffer no di- 
minution from the lofty objects with which it is sur- 
rounded." 

It has often been stated that, because it owes its 
foundation to his vow made on St. Lawrence day, its 
form is that of a gridiron. Only a ground plan wall 
show what that pattern is, for it is a conglomeration 
of thick stone walls and myriads of rooms and win- 
dows. It has seven towers, fifteen gateways, three 
thousand eight hundred doors and windows, sixteen 
courts, and corridors of a hundred miles in total length. 
Did I walk through all these corridors and look out 
through all these windows? Not in one day's visit. 
Nor would I desire to do so, were my visit one of a 
hundred days. I should as soon desire to see every 
cell in Sing Sing prison and touch every stone of the 
Vatican. And why walk much within, when probably 
not a living soul would be met to tell you it was ever 
intended to be the abode of life ? 

Five things impressed and interested me in this 
strange and gloomy Palace. The first was the library. 
That has pretty frescoes, tables of porphyry and jas- 
per, elegant bookcases designed by the famous Escorial 
architect, Herrera, and an enormous number of 
priceless treasures in the shape of Greek, Arabic and 
Spanish manuscripts. The second were the portions 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 93 

of the old living rooms of the Palace, which are yet 
carpeted and furnished with magnificent sets of an- 
tique furniture, and where elaborate and costly tapes- 
tries, made for Charles III., representing games, bull- 
fights, fetes, etc., line the walls. They are not rooms 
to compare in elegance or comfort with some modern 
palaces, but the decorations and furnishings deserve 
more than a passing mention. The third was the " Bat- 
tle Room:" the long hall, one hundred and seventy- 
eight feet in length, in which are displayed the fres- 
coes of Granello and Castello, representing the bat- 
tles of Higueruela, Lepanto, St. Quentin and Pavia, 
which, as historical works of art, must possess im- 
mense value. The fourth was the suite of tiny rooms, 
next to the church itself, where Philip lived in his later 
years, a prey to fear if not to remorse, and where he at 
last died, grasping his crucifix, gazing through an 
open door at the high altar of the church, seeking, it 
is said, consolation in prayer. Small, cell-like rooms, 
few in number, as unroyal and plain as Death itself, 
which alike unmasks the knave and strips the rich of 
his earthly treasures. His throne chairs, and two or 
three stools on which he rested his gouty legs, his 
breviary, and a writing desk are there; otherwise a 
floor of brick, white walls, a low ceiling and — melan- 
choly. The fifth spectacle was alone worth the jour- 
ney from Madrid to see : the burial place of the Span- 
ish kings. To reach it you pass into and through the 
church; a massive, bare-looking building, whose deco- 
rations are, apparently, centuries from being com- 
pleted; a church having a grand high altar, and mod- 
elled after St. Peter's in Rome, though several times 
smaller, and possessing an exquisite pulpit of Ferdi- 
nand VII., who died in 1833; a church rich in con- 
cealed gold and relics, but cold as the North Pole. 



m BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Then you go down by an extremely rich marble stair- 
case into an underground, round, sepulchral chamber, 
thirty-six feet across and the same in height. The 
inscription above the door is expressive and grandiose : 
" Great and Omnipotent God! This is a place conse- 
crated by the piety of the Austrian dynasty to the mor- 
tal remains of the Catholic kings, who are awaiting the 
desired day, under the high altar sacred to the Re- 
deem of mankind. Charles V., the most illustrious of 
the Caesars, desired this burial resting-place for him- 
self and his lineage; Philip II., the most prudent of 
kings, designed it; Philip III., a sincerely pious mon- 
arch, began the work; Philip IV., noted for his clem- 
ency, constancy and devotion, enlarged, embellished 
and finished it in the year of our Lord 1654." Here are 
interred in niches the remains of Charles V., Philip II., 
Philip III., Philip IV., Louis L, the three Don Carlos, 
Ferdinand VII., and the empresses and queens, in all 
about twenty-three. The grayish-red marble sarcoph- 
agus, in which the present young King of Spain 
will be buried, is in place, and he is almost the last 
monarch for whom there is space reserved, or possible 
to be reserved, as twenty-six niches take up all the 
room: The sarcophagi are alike, and on each is a 
simple inscription in gilt letters giving the name and 
title of the occupant. The mausoleum is lined with 
jasper and precious marbles. Directly above this pan- 
theon is the high altar of the church, so that " when 
the priest elevates the Host he is standing exactly 
above the dead kings." 

A much more light and airy chamber, in fact se- 
ries of chambers, are near by, in which the royal prin- 
ces and princesses of Spain, including those queens 
whose children did not succeed to the throne, are 
placed, in stone coffins. These are more attractive 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 95 

than the cold, dark, circular pit in which lie the once 
enthroned kings. 

Whatever may be said of the immense cost of the 
Escorial, it is at best but an enormous sepulchre; 
a tomb of kings and of their worn-out ideas. It is 
mediaeval Spain petrified; a corpse that may be seen 
through many ages to come, like an Egyptian mum- 
my, but which will never again be the abode of life. 
The Inquisition, whose palmy days were those of Phil- 
ip II. 's time, is not more dead than the soul of this 
whole catacombal structure, whose grandeur is pathet- 
ic, but whose true pathos consists not in the Panthe- 
onistic inscription, "His locus sacer morfalitatis exuviis 
cathoiicorum regum," but in the fact that the mightiest 
kingdom of the world, when it was erected, is now 
that which has the least influence in the councils of the 
nations. 

Let us turn now to the very antipodes to the 
" Escorial;" a city and not a tomb; an inspiration and 
not a devitalizer; a something inhabited by men, on 
whose foreheads are written *' Hope" and '* Progress." 
Barcelona proves to be a surprise to any traveler in 
Spain. " Unique in position, unique in beauty," said 
Cervantes. It is so rich in the present, in what it is 
and in what it is sure to be, that it presages a new and 
awakened Spain. It is up-to-date, intelligent, pro- 
gressive, industrious. Its buildings are modern, its 
streets broad and clean, its parks numerous and beau- 
tiful, and its people just such as you would expect to 
meet in Paris, or Berlin, but not in old Catalonia. Bar- 
celona was a marvel to me. It does have a bull-ring, 
to remind one that this is still Spain, and it does have 
labor strikes, to prove that commercial supremacy has 
made an antagonism between capital and labor, as in 
the United States, but it is forging ahead on all the 



W BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

lines which interest progressive Americans. One sees 
here the rush of Thomson-Houston electric cars, 
meets vast crowds of well-dressed shoppers in the 
streets, views warehouses, factories and shipping of 
the kind he sees in Great Britain, and finds as good 
shops and as elegant dwellings as he would observe in 
any part of London. Said an American writer, who 
saw it about the same time J did, in describing it in the 
New York "Tribune": "Here is a city with more 
vigor than Bordeaux, with a commerce as great as 
Marseilles, with factories as modem and as extensive 
as some North English centre. Yes, this is the New 
Spain. English are here; Germans, with their cheap 
goods; Americans, with their typewriting machines, 
cash registers, Singer sewing machines. The New 
York Life and the Mutual have large offices, and the 
hustling promoter is in evidence at the hotels. While 
at the ' Inglaterra' we met a Califomian who had a 
contract for building one of the latest American trac- 
tion engines to haul great loads over the hilly road- 
ways. At the same hotel we made the acquaintance 
of an American engineer sent to Barcelona to erect 
and place in position the needed machinery for a large 
Portland cement mill. Another American was going 
to build a narrow guage railway in Southern Spain." 
Industrial Spain emerging from the swaddling 
clothes of beggarism and a miserable system of mo- 
nasticism on the one hand, and from a lazy, God-will - 
take-care-of-us life of ease and pleasure on the other 
hand, begins to show itself at its best in Barcelona. 
For this reason alone one should not leave the Iberian 
peninsula and fail to visit this one centre of modern 
thought and progressiveness. How it happens so I do 
not know, but here it is, a city of over a quarter of a mil- 
lion of inhabitants, with suburbs of as many people 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 97 

more, who '' combine the vivacity of the Gaul with the 
dignity of the Castilian," and all " exhibiting a vigorous 
and cheerful tide of life," than which no other people 
of the peninsula makes so cosmopolitan an impression. 
What is there to see in Barcelona? Littlfe that is 
ancient. It has good modern hotels, a charming plaza 
extending up and down the centre of its main street, 
which is a hundred feet wide, and an abundance of 
thrift. Its Cathedral is old and is the darkest and 
gloomiest one within on which I have ever set eyes. 
The subterranean chapel of St. Eulalia within its walls 
is likely, however, long to continue to draw " the faith- 
ful " into the edifice. Once the eyes become accus- 
tomed to the interior, it does have a stateliness, dignity 
and solemnity more than commensurate with its size 
or importance. It is a Fourteenth Century church, on 
a site previously and consecutively occupied by a 
Roman temple, a Moorish mosque and a Christian edi- 
fice of 1058, and in these respects it has a history that 
appeals to one who is looking for the few really an- 
cient places in Spain, where different races have wor- 
shipped the Unknown and the Known God for as 
many as twenty centuries. But the best feature of the 
city — outside of its charming garden-park, covering 
seventy-five acres, where are beautiful sheets of water, 
wide avenues of magnolia trees, numerous rare plants, 
a zoological garden, hosts of beautiful flowers and fine 
shaded drives for the morning or afternoon — is the 
continuous plaza, referred to above, called the Rambla. 
It is really only a very broad and stately main street, 
but shaded by a double row of plane trees in the cen- 
tre, between which pedestrians walk, and on either side 
of which is a driveway. Rambla means a dry river, 
and this is over the bed of an old river, which has been 
arched over, where the people walk, shop, drive and 



98 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

carry on their outdoor promenadings, with all the light 
and airy grace of which the modern Catalans are pos- 
sessed. The beginning of the Rambla is at the Colum- 
bus monument by the wharves. That is a splendid 
iron column two hundred feet in height, erected twen- 
ty years ago, the lower part of which rests on a stone 
platformi surrounded by eight bronze lions. I went to 
the top of this monument by an elevator and saw 
around me nearly the whole of the wonderful city, its 
avenues radiating out in different directions, the har- 
bor of shipping and the bright blue Mediterranean on 
the one hand, and the delightful crescent of mountains 
around Barcelona on the other. It is a rare view of 
a city and well repays for the ascent. It is here where 
one may think of the phenomenal metropolis as a 
modern, up-to-date, sunny and altogether agreeable 
'* Escorial," infinitely bigger and finer than was ever 
dreamed of by Philip 11. 

On leaving this sprightly city, a city so totally dif- 
ferent from Seville, Cordova, or Granada, that these 
two classes of cities are scarcely to be considered as 
belonging to the same country, I left Spain, for the 
night express placed me in the morning far on to Mar- 
seilles in Southern France. On this journey I " ru- 
minated " over the sights I was leaving behind — the 
manners and customs, the people, the scenery — and 
the questions would come up: After all, how does 
Spain compare with other countries as a place for 
sightseeing and comfortable traveling? Do Americans 
meet with as respectful and as courteous treatment as 
people of other nations? Is it a land worth seeing 
twice? and so on and so on. I must answer some of 
these questions in brief, and then forbear other de- 
scriptions of "sunny days" spent in this region of vine 
and palm ; for is not the '' Riviera " just ahead, and all 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 99 

aglow with midsummer colors, and also with palm and 
pomegranate, vine and pine? 

Spain is not so easily traversed as most European 
countries because there are fewer railroads. These 
railroads are badly run, and slow, except at night. The 
distances are great, and there are few fellow-travelers 
of those we meet who are acquainted with the English 
tongue. It takes nearly twenty-four hours to receive 
a reply to a telegram, and you are lucky to get it then. 
Express trains sometimes go once in two days; 
through expresses to Paris once in a week. So there 
are many delays and discouragements in travel. Nev- 
ertheless all these matters are being improved, and, if 
they were not to be bettered, still the ** game is worth 
the candle." It is a great and wonderful land, and 
because it has been inaccessible and unknown is all the 
more reason why now it should be explored, especial- 
ly as it is safe and easy enough to do it, without any 
great necessity for losing patience or temper. 

In scenery there are all classes, from ordinary to 
sublime, from desert to sierra. Few countries — cer- 
tainly not France, nor Germany, much less England- 
have a tithe of the different classes of scenery which 
Spain possesses. Fromi the Sierra Nevada to the 
Pyrenees one sees all gradations of views, and he 
must be hard to suit who cannot find some land- 
scapes that please. 

In customs one finds many that are peculiar to 
Spain and are seen nowhere else, especially such as 
grow out of native courtesies. I have thought the rea- 
son why everybody smokes cigarettes is because, be- 
ing cheap, everybody offers them to everyone else, and 
courtesy demands that they be not refused. Twenty- 
five cigarettes cost only about four cents. It is said 
you can stop a whole train five minutes, or ten, by of- 



L.oiO. 



100 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

fering the guard a couple of cigarettes to smoke ; the 
train will stay there till he smokes them! Ignorance 
with the Spaniard is bliss, and want of courtesy would 
be infinitely worse than ignorance. Lotteries are 
abundant, but so they are in Italy. In both countries 
the poor pour out their pockets to the ticket venders 
and the government reaps the advantage. For music 
there is, of course, a national fondness, which shows it- 
self not only in operas and at theatres, but in the 
streets in the evening, especially during moonlight. 
Musical instruments among the poorer classes are us- 
ually limited to the guitar, but the richer people prefer 
the piano and violin; and yet it remains true that the 
guitar is the national instrument still, as in former 
days. Everybody who can read, reads the newspapers, 
but, as the majority do not read, every home does not 
have its printed political adviser. Yet all the people 
are politicians : there are none who do not have views 
on the current items of the day, as dished up by those 
posted at the cafes. These views only concern Spain, 
however, and not the world outside. The people of 
all classes are interesting to meet because they are 
vivacious, and have the mingled blood of Iberians and 
Moors in their veins ; such a mixture cannot help pro- 
ducing a spirited and proud race. 

Commercially, as stated, Spain is waking up in sec- 
tions. A rich land — none naturally richer, perhaps, on 
earth — it will only require pluck, capital and push to 
show what can be done on this half-decayed but noble 
soil. In twenty years so much has been gained in this 
country that I would not like to predict what might 
not happen in fifty years. In 1862, in twenty-two 
classes of minerals, 1,200,000 tons (in round figures) 
•were mined; in 1882, over 8,000,000. In 1880 there 
were 111,000,000 pesetas capitalized in mines; in 1898, 



THE OLD SPAIN AND THE NEW 101 

319,000,000 pesetas. From 1894 to 1898 the exporta- 
tion of wine was increased two and one-half times. 
These are stray and comparatively small signs, but 
they indicate industrial progress. 

As to customs in dress, they vary somewhat with 
each province. The peasant costumes are not so fre- 
quently seen as formerly in the cities, except on gala 
days. I usually noted that men of business wore 
brown colored clothes, with light sombreros, having 
almost white bands. But often they had on plain black. 
The black hat was especially noticeable in Madrid, 
where every young man, especially in the evening, 
carried a cane. Fashionable ladies powdered much and 
dressed after Parisian styles. The New Spain is not 
likely to dress differently from other portions of Eu- 
rope. 

The priests are not much respected. In fact reli- 
gion has a small hold, to-day, on the Spanish heart, 
and, while the present national church is in its decay, 
it is by no means certain that any other form of wor- 
ship is likely soon to take its place, or that, except by 
a special wave of reformatory revival, any sort of liv- 
ing after a high religious plane is in prospect for the 
next few decades. The most mournful outlook I had 
for the future of this high-spirited race was that which 
came from trying to answer the question: Is there any 
near hope of an upbuilding of national character 
through national devotion to the great ideals of a pure 
Christianity? — for the symptoms of genuine feeling 
are suppressed among all classes. 

The pure Spanish language is only spoken by the 
Catalans who occupy the centre of the country. The 
question in Spain is never, " Can you speak Spanish ? " 
but, "Can you speak Castellano?" In other parts of 



102 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the kingdom there are dialects and any abundance of 
provinciaUsms. 

I was somewhat disappointed in the birds of Spain. 
They must have wandered to sunnier climes, for Spain 
now has its real winters, when the air is thoroughly 
a-chill, and when travelers shiver in hostelries that 
have no means of warming bedrooms or courts. I 
saw enormous swallows in Granada, and the nightin- 
gales sang there in the early evening, but otherwise 
it seemed as if the birds had gone out with the Moors. 

These few general impressions of ''Sunny Spain" 
are, after all, only a little "by the way." The reader 
must leave Spain in this volume with but trifling knowl- 
edge of a few of her historic points. I should like to 
have spent months there instead of weeks. Perhaps 
one can do no better than to have on his lips, as he 
departs, the poem of George Eliot, who saw in Spain 
all the memories of her thousand years of glory, and 
which begins : 

" 'Tis the warm South, where Europe spreads her lands 
Like fretted leaflets, breathing on the deep: 
Broad-breasted Spain, leaning with equal love 
(A calm earth-goddess crowned with corn and vines) 
On the mid-sea, that moans with memories, 
And on the untravelled ocean, whose vast tides 
Pant dumbly passionate with dreams of youth." 

For it is splendidly true that the country we are leav- 
ing is "broad-breasted," and is "a calm earth-goddess 
crowned with corn and vines." 



VII.—THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN. 

THERE IS something exceedingly musical 
about the title given to the strip of land ex- 
tending several hundred miles east and west 
on the southern shores of France, between the charm- 
ingly blue Mediterranean and the mountains. Ri- 
viera — every syllable is harmonious. The word lingers 
on the tongue as if it were honey from the heights of 
Hymettus. Riviera di Ponente — ^the full designa- 
tion; one feels instinctively that the appellation is 
neither French nor Spanish, but Italian ; and everyone 
knows that of the few musical languages of the civi- 
lized world the Italian is easily at the head. 

The Riviera consists of the slopes and coast be- 
tween the Maritime Alps and the sea. It extends 
from Hyeres to Genoa, a distance of two hundred and 
three miles, and is of narrow, though varying, width. 
On this strip of earth the winds from the snowlands 
come down in summer to temper the heat, and, in 
winter, the breezes from the Mediterranean are wafted 
ashore to subdue and genialize the cold. As a con- 
sequence there is no spot in Europe so well adapted 
to please the invalid in both extreme seasons as along 
the Riviera. Naturally it is the winter which finds the 
hotels full, and the promenade along the water-front 
crowded with the wealthy and the tourist class, but 
there can be no reason why the warmer months should 
not give a welcoming to whomever loves Nature in her 
most beautiful forms. I wooed the drives about 
Cannes and Nice, and tried the famous Corniche 



104 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Road, in the late days of June. The air was balmy, the 
flowers were in perfection, and the fruits were as gold- 
en as the fabled apple of Venus. As the crowds were 
away, there was the more time to devote to both the 
landscape and a seascape, which are, together, almost 
unrivalled in any known part of our little earth. 

Leaving Marseilles, a railway journey of an hour 
and a half among olive and apricot orchards and a 
profusion of vineyards, will bring one to Hyeres, 
where Massillon, the greatest of the pulpit orators of 
France, was born in 1633. At double that distance 
there is increasing tropical scenery, much red soil and 
an abundance of yellow flowers. Then Cannes is 
reached, the real beginning of the finer scenery of the 
Riviera. 

On the whole, Cannes is about as pretty a spot as 
there is along this whole coast. Something about it 
attracts one as singularly winning, and I am sure I 
left the locality with the distinct impression that Monte 
Carlo, Mentone and San Remo might have their dif- 
ferent and varied glories, each in its own way being 
"glowing and splendid," but that Cannes would re- 
main in memory as a place of unique charms. Cannes 
seems peculiarly restful, healthful and ornate. When 
good Queen Victoria once chose it as the place where 
she might pass a winter in peace and quiet — her villa 
on the hill is still pointed out — she exercised her usual 
superior judgment and refined taste. If not so fash- 
ionable now as Nice, it has several advantages over 
the greater-sized city. At all events, it has many a lit- 
tle tidbit of artistic loveliness in its surroundings, es- 
pecially in the two islands in front of it, which are full 
of historical associations. 

Cannes is not a small place, if it has but twenty 
thousand fixed population. It hugs the curve of the 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 105 

"bay (dignified by the name of the Gulf of Napoule) 
for almost four and a half miles, with its fresh-looking, 
cheerful stone villas and its gardens of roses and 
palms. It is a bright, quiet, even elegant abode, and 
if Lord Brougham never did another act deserving of 
a good name than that of bringing it to public notice 
seventy-two years ago, he might well have a tall mon- 
ument erected to his memory. Then it probably had 
a half-dozen poor hotels ; now it has sixty or more, 
doubtless all good ones. Lord Brougham was on his 
way to Naples, and the quarantine on the frontier of 
Italy, (the frontier then being near Nice), compelled 
his sojourn for a while at Cannes. The beauty of the 
neighborhood so attracted his lordship that he pur- 
chased a piece of ground, built a house upon it, called 
by him Villa Louise Eleonare, in memory of an only 
child. This was in 1831. Alm.ost every subsequent win- 
ter found him at this spot, and here he died in the sum- 
mer of 1868. It was this choice of his that afterward 
brought to Cannes the English and Scotch, and it rap- 
idly advanced to fame. Nice was widely known long 
before, but Cannes soon became more fashionable, 
and with good reason, as it was less crowded and more 
exclusive. 

Cannes' beautiful promenade, with its palm trees, 
brightly colored houses, semi-tropical vegetation, 
charming sea-opal, and then its background of the ex- 
quisitely rounded Esterels, form a picture of enchant- 
ment which I like to think of even now, months after 
having seen it. From that first low range of hills be- 
hind it, known as "California," with their fringes of 
pine, down to the shingles on the ocean's beach, every- 
thing is of finished loveliness. Nothing is out of place; 
all things in colors and outline are harmonious and 
picturesque. And the air I found. to be more like "the 
7 



106 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

silk of oxygen" than anything else to which I can 
compare it. 

Of course I went up to "Cahfornia;" the name was 
too American to pass the spot by. The road winds up 
and up, to pretty villas, by grandiose hotels and invit- 
ing woods. There are views from every turn, vistas 
new and pretty with every ascent. Orange gardens, 
olive groves, intermixed with pines, everywhere. Why 
should one wonder that Rachel, the greatest tragedian 
of France, chose to die yonder in the Villa Sardou : 

"Unto a lovely villa in a dell 
Above the fragrant, warm Provencal shore, 
The dying Rachel in a chair they bore. 
Up the steep, pine-plumed paths of Esterelle, 
And laid her in a stately room, where fell 
The shadow of a marble Muse of yore — 
The rose-crown'd queen of legendary lore." 

Louis Blanc, Auerbach, de Tocqueville, Dumas, Cou- 
sin, the Duke of Albany, all died within view of these 
charming hills. The Duke of Vallambrosa's chateau 
has fountains, grottoes, magnolias, giant trees. The 
Romans made no mistake in building their altars and a 
Temple of Venus on one of these heights. Probably 
the Phoenicians used it for a similar purpose at an ear- 
lier day. So the spot has a history. Indeed we know 
that the top of the rock, Mont Chevalier, was the 
place where a village was perched in the very earliest 
times. And Napoleon made Cannes famous as the 
spot where he landed from Elba when, in 1815, he 
made his final effort to rule France and met a Water- 
loo in his contest with Welhngton. 

That which historically was the most interesting 
to me at Cannes was the island of Ste. Marguerite, 
with its fortress of red-tiled roofs and whitewashed 
walls, where "the Man in the Iron Mask" was impris- 
oned from 1694 to 1698, as a part of the twenty-four 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 107 

years of his long detention from the gaze and voices of 
men, or the knowledge and recognition of friends.* 
All the world for nearly two centuries puzzled itself 
over who the man was, but now we know and so did 
Louis XIV. It has been stated that he was on Ste. 
Marguerite for fourteen years, but this is clearly an er- 
ror. Still he was there, succeeding his imprisonment 
at Pignerol, and if he did not literally wear an ''iron 
mask" — a cruel, unbending mask, by day and by night 
— he was in solitary confinement. His very name was 
blotted out. His family knew nothing of his where- 
abouts, nor of his end, and they and he died in ignor- 
ance of any particulars of each other, after Louis put 
hands upon him and hid him away. 

Let us for a brief moment review the dates and 
facts of Ercole Antonio Mattioli's life. He was born 
in 1640, was thirty-nine at the time of his first incarcer- 
ation, and sixty-three at the time of his death. He was 
born in Bologna, and came of a distinguished family 
of lawyers. He held a chair in the University of Bo- 
logna, married into a rich family, settled at Mantua, 
became Secretary of State to Charles III. In time he 
was mixed up in a most serious affair of treason 
against France — clear, cool, proved, and all probably 
for gold. He fell in a moment, and so great was his 
fall that his fate was as if the earth had opened and 
swallowed him up. He never saw the light of free- 
dom again; he never saw anybody afterward but jailer 
and attendants. This is what was written by King 
Louis on April 27th, 1679, to Saint Mars, his jailer at 
Pignerol : " The King has sent orders to the Abbe 



*The dates here given are based upon Hopkins' "Man in the Iron 
Mask," (Leipsic, 1901), but disagree with many other publications of 
earlier date. 



108 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

d'Estrades to procure the arrest of a man with whose 
conduct his Majesty has reason to be displeased. I am 
commanded to acquaint you with this in order that 
you may not hesitate to receive him, when he is sent 
to you. You will guard him in such a manner that 
not only may he have no communication with anyone, 
but that he may have cause to repent his conduct, and 
that no one may know you have a new prisoner." And 
that the secret was well kept for nearly a quarter of a 
century is only too clearly expressed in the entry con- 
cerning his death in the Bastile in Paris under date 
of November 19, 1703, when in the Register was writ- 
ten this: "The same day, Nov. 19th, 1703, the prison- 
er, unknown, masked always with a mask of black vel- 
vet, whom M. de Saint-Mars brought with him from 
the Isles of Sainte-Marguerite, and whom he had for 
a long time, happening to be rather unwell yesterday 
on coming from Mass, died this day at about ten 
o'clock in the evening, without having had any ser- 
ious illness. . . . And this unknown prisoner con- 
fined so long a time, was buried on Tuesday at four 
in the afternoon, in the Cemetery of St. Paul, our par- 
ish; on the register of burials he was given a name 
also unknown." Voltaire invented for himi the " iron 
mask," whereas it was one of black velvet, and it is 
now believed he never wore that except when his 
jailer or himself thought it wise that he should, to pre- 
vent recognition. 

How many men of royal and unroyal blood have 
been supposed to be this "Man in the Iron Mask?" 
Now that we really know him — the full particulars not 
appearing, however, until 1898 — it takes away no whit 
of the interest in the fortress where a part of his lone- 
ly life was spent. There the cell of Mattioli is still 
shown, surrounded by thick walls, closed by double 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 109 

doors, its little window protected by three gratings. 
Here came Francis I., a prisoner. Here Marshal 
Bazaine of France came in 1873, also a prisoner, and 
eight months later he broke his prison bars and es- 
caped to Spain. 

Ste. Marguerite lies only some fifteen hundred 
yards off shore from Cannes. It has pine trees, steep, 
bold hills, tremendous rocks, and is beautiful to look 
upon from every point of view. "Climbing Ste. Mar- 
guerite's top," says a recent writer, "the traveler's 
eyes are filled with a marvelous golden light; before 
him undulates on every hand all that sun-bathed shore 
of the Riviera; he counts the glistening villas of 
Cannes ; gray-green hills of olives rise beyond ; to the 
left streams out the long chain of the Esterel ' with 
contours brusque and varied'; and on the right the 
Maritime Alps cast up their 'thousand years of 
snow.' " 

If Ste. Marguerite is historical, even more so is St. 
Honorat, where the grandest monk of the early ages 
of Christianity introduced monasticism into Europe. 
He must be callous, indeed, to the religious thrill of 
his being, who does not look with eyes ready to suffuse 
with tears at the ruined chapels of these early, patient, 
lowly monks, real pioneers in Christianity, and real 
heroes. The tradition is interesting that Ste. Mar- 
guerite, the sister of St. Honoratus, left her northern 
home in Belgic Gaul and came to these two islands be- 
cause her brother was there. But inasmuch as it was 
forbidden for a woman to live in or near a monastery, 
when St. Honoratus estabUshed his abode on the is- 
land of St. Honorat, she went to the adjacent island of 
Ste. Marguerite, and, therefore, the island nearer the 
shore bears her own name. Still more beautiful is the 
other tradition, which goes hand in hand with the 



no BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

former, that ''the deserted sister wrung from her 
brother, who wished to isolate himself completely from 
the world and all its affections, the promise that he 
would come to see her when the almond trees on the 
island should blossom. The interval of waiting was so 
insupportably long to the lonely Marguerite that she 
iiriportuned the saints to hasten the flowering season. 
In answer to her prayers, and tears the almond trees 
blossomed miraculously once a month;" and then she 
sent branches over to her brother, who came and ac- 
knowledged that " heaven had interfered to vindicate 
the holiness of human love, and to exalt it above all 
ascetic rules." 

Be all this true or not, St. Honoratus was a real be- 
ing, a man of iron mould, lofty convictions, unfeigned 
piety and a grand leader of men. He left Gaul to go 
with his brother to the Holy Land. His brother died 
on the way. St. Honoratus would, therefore, not pro- 
ceed, but returned to the Bay at Cannes and there 
founded the first monastery of Europe, doing for 
Southern France and then for the surrounding coun- 
tries what St. Columba did for Britain. On leaving 
Northern Gaul (now^ Belgium), he gave his possessions 
to the poor; then took his journey onward to see Pal- 
estine, but quickly turned aside, as stated, to devote 
himself to the cause of his Master. He reached this 
island at Cannes in A. D. 410, a full hundred and fifty 
years before St. Columba left his Irish home and set- 
tled on the island of lona in Scotland, and it is said of 
his influence on his fellows, that " he restored the hon- 
ey to the wax from the sweetness of his own heart." 
His life is so full of human interest that I can only 
express the hope that those who put eyes upon the 
island of St. Honorat, and many who do not, will be- 
come acquainted with his history, and that of his fol- 



THE EIVIBRA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 111 

lowers, who set the pace of charitable deeds and holy 
living in Europe for more than five hundred years. 
Many of the illustrious bishops who governed the ec- 
clesiastical machinery of Southern Europe during 
much of that period were educated on this island, and 
some of them bore names which the world has quite 
learned by heart. It is said that once as many as three 
thousand seven hundred monks lived on St. Honorat. 
Besides the monastery, there were seven chapels on 
the island, fiv« of them to be seen in ruins still, and all 
dating from the Seventh Century, or earlier. One is 
but twelve yards long and three wide, the Chapel 
of the Holy Trinity, and it is the oldest and best pre- 
served of the group. Its stones, perhaps, came from 
those of an earlier Roman temple. It is one of the 
rudest and most pathetic of the churches of antiquity. 

St. Honorat has but ninety-seven acres of ground, 
with one monastery upon it, but every foot of it is 
" holy soil.'' Ste. Marguerite is four and a-half miles 
in circumference, and its leading attraction is that old 
prison fortress. The two combined make up two bits 
of land that, at the sea-gateway to Cannes, constitute 
so rare a magnet for the lover of the romantic, the re- 
ligious and the antique, that the wonder is they are 
sought out and actually visited by so few travelers ta 
the Riviera. 

So many pretty excursions, so many romantic 
towns, lie within the scope of a dozen miles of Cannes, 
going away from but also along the seacoast, that it 
is a pity to hurry along to Nice, as most travelers do. 
Still, Nice seems to beckon, for it is "headquarters;'* 
it is full of life, people, shops, gardens, shaded walks 
and nooks, hills, and has a panorama of sea and land 
quite as attractive as that of Cannes. The hill within 
the city itself, just by the edge of the sea, the "Acrop- 



112 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

olis of Nice " — Chateau Hill being its local name — 
rising three hundred and fifteen feet above the water, 
is the first spot to which a stranger's feet should wend, 
for its cascades and deep wood are impressive and the 
views from it entrancing. Here one obtains a full 
knowledge of his surroundings. He will see three 
towns; the port town, with its population of seafarers; 
the old town, with narrow and steep streets radiating 
from the cathedral, and the new town, with large build- 
ings, broad streets, elegant gardens and a general air 
of queenly repose. Then, stretching up toward the 
heights to the north, he will see the Cimiez, a hill some 
four hundred and thirty feet above the sea, where the 
Roman amphitheatre yet stands in solitary ruin, 
guarded by ilex trees, and where beautiful villas crowd 
one another amid olive woods, fruit orchards and dells 
of wild flowers. It is not the Umbrian plain from Pe- 
rugia, it is not the Vega from Granada, but it is, for 
its limitations, a bit of paradise which is sure to cap- 
ture an artist's heart. 

The author of "Abide with Me" lies buried at Nice, 
and he had the wish of the opening lines of his "De- 
clining Days:" 

"I want not vulgar fame — 
I seek not to survive in wood or stone," 

for he survives in what is far better, the hearts of all 
Christians in every land. He also wrote, to conclude 
the same verse: 

"Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name, / 
Nor tears my value own;" 

but in this he was mistaken. Hearts do " kindle " as 
they sing Henry F. Lyte's great hymn, which goes on 
and on, girdling and regirdling the earth with its ten- 
der yearning for the light beyond the eventide. Gam- 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 113 

betta sleeps on that Chateau Hill, and many another 
well-known man or woman has found a grave in this 
so-called " invalid's garden." 

About Nice there are vallons, which are far more 
beautiful than the immediate environs; dells and rav~ 
ines full of plants and flowers, that are poetry to the 
soul and pictures to the eye; brooks, birds and flowers; 
spots of sunshine, and then of dank, dark shade, with 
lichens and ferns in endless variety; patches of green, 
fairy-like forests; rosettes of harvests and songs of 
birds of plumage. It is said that whoever spends a 
three-month at this fashionable resort need have no 
fears that a new excursion may not be made every day, 
which will fill his mind and overflow his heart with 
" thoughts unutterable and full of joy." I should like 
to test the truth of that last prediction and remain 
both at Cannes and at Nice for an entire season. 

But it is morning, the sun is up, the Corniche road 
and Mentone are ahead, and a thousand voices call 
toward Italy. If I were to respond quickly to the 
question, what one carriage ride, outside of "dear, old 
England," has given me the most pleasure, I should 
be obliged to say : *' The Corniche, from Nice to Men- 
tone." The fame of the Napoleonic driveway may be 
great, but the pleasures of it on " a rare day in June " 
are greater. Up and up, first, past lemon groves, fig 
orchards, small streams, olive trees, until all of Nice 
is below and the ocean stretches out and out, until in 
the far distance, one hundred and six miles away, it is 
said, can be dimly seen, like a spectral ghost, the 
rugged hills of Corsica, the birthplace of Napoleon. 
It is a grand view, but not the finest from the Corniche 
road. Now we dip down into a valley, and all traces 
of Nice and the sea are left behind. We see the Ob- 
servatory, famous for over twenty years past (it was 



114 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

constructed in 1881), and pass a spot whence portions 
of the snow-covered Maritime Alps are visible, and 
presently come up above Eza, the most picturesque part 
of the day's drive. 

Eza is upon a peak thirteen hundred feet above 
the sea, one of a *' confused assemblage of lofty cal- 
careous rocks," all unique in contour and strangely 
grotesque in details. On this lone summit, a human 
eyrie, stands this little village, now of five hundred and 
sixty souls; an historic spot, where Ligurians, Ro- 
mans, Lombards, Saracens and Italians have come and 
gone, and now the Frenchmen, who are in possession, 
seem out of place in it. Pagans, Moslems and Chris- 
tians have each sought Eza as a place of worship and a 
rock of defence. Fragments of castles, houses old 
enough in appearance to be contemporary with Noah's 
Ark, huge masonry, naked rocks, are interspersed be- 
tween and jostle each other as if they were welded into 
one compact community under the stern hand of some 
Titanic upheaval in bygone ages. The Corniche road 
is above Eza, some four hundred feet higher, and one 
looks down upon castle and town as if from the clouds p 
looks down below it, also, into the shimmering, opal- 
ine sea, unruffled, in spots red as blood, in spots pur- 
ple, in spots golden with the glow of the afternoon 
sun, while out and beyond is the inexpressibly bright 
blue that is here seen in the perfection of the natural 
Mediterranean hue. I never saw before, and never ex- 
pect to see elsewhere, such varied tints, sharply de- 
fined, upon the bosom of any sea. A poet's dream, 
an artist's delight and despair, a witchery of all the 
colors of all the shades of the rainbow. In one place 
the water is so fair in its amethystine hue, that it must 
be the mother of every violet tint that earth ever gave 
to its loveHest of spring flowers. In another it is of 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 115 

the varying shades of the sapphire, here verging into 
the reds, there toning down to the yellows. I know of 
no better description, in one sentence, of the sea as 
viewed from the heights at or above Eza, than that of 
the polished Scotch writer. Reverend Doctor Macmil- 
lan: "Away out to the southern horizon stretches the 
vast sapphire plain of the Mediterranean, its farthest 
line quivering in the golden sunlight, and near the 
shore its Hmpid waters shimmering Hke the neck of 
a peacock with an iridescent mingling of colors." Su- 
perb as is the peacock simile, it is a wondrously true 
one ; and if this be but one picture of one certain hour 
of the day when I happened to be passing hastily along 
this bit of Corniche road, what might one not see of 
translucence and iridescence if he could sit from the 
sunrising to the sunsetting on the top of Eza's castled 
summit, and watch the changing glows and shades and 
afterglows of sunshine and clouds on the bosom of 
that sea for all the hours of one splendid day ! . 

Over this Corniche road, by Eza, must Petrarch, a 
boy of nine years old, have traveled with his father on 
his way to Avignon. Here he must often have paused 
later in Hfe to look at the sea, and to muse upon his 
Laura, and the charming fountains of Vaucluse, where 
was his isolated home. No such road then as now, but 
an ill-kept way. The Romans used it; perhaps the 
Greeks before them. Before Petrarch, Dante wended 
his solitary way by Eza, an exile going toward the 
northern side of the Alps, and to him it is said to have 
"suggested an image of the road out of purgatory.'* 
Great men without number, from the days of Caesar 
Augustus to Napoleon, and down to this very day, 
have walked or ridden by this Eza. 

A little farther along is Turbia, mentioned by 
Dante, which gave birth to two Roman emperors, Vi- 



116 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tellius and Pertinax. Close by it, on a tall eminence, 
stands that tower which Augustus built to commem- 
orate his victory over the tribes of the vicinity. Mas- 
sive yet, it was then and for succeeding ages a watch- 
tower, from whose walls was a vista rarely to be found 
in Europe, looking westward to St. Tropez, eastward 
to San Remo. For one thousand seven hundred years 
this grand structure stood, when half of it was de- 
stroyed by a nation which, by its armies, did more in 
war to overthrow great works of architecture and 
smaller structures of art than all the soldiers of Con- 
tinental Europe in the preceding days when Gauls and 
Goths sacked Rome and ruined the earliest chivalric 
monuments of Spain. 

"What Roman strength Turbia show'd 
In ruin by the mountain road; 
How, like a gem beneath, the city 
Of little Monaco, basking, glow'd." 

So sang Tennyson in his " Daisy;" and Monaco is just 
beneath. Just beneath, yet an hour or two of descent, 
and windings of road innumerable, must be passed 
over, before you enter that " little-great " city, the 
smallest of the world's principalities, and with the fame 
of being the wickedest. 

Monaco is a tiny bit on the map of the earth, a mere 
point before you as you descend to it. It would seem as 
if one ordinary ten-acre field of grain might cover it 
out of sight, and it almost could, though not of all the 
territory over which the Monaco sovereignty has sway. 
That covers about eight square miles. But the prin- 
cipal and ancient city, built on a jutting promontory 
nearly two hundred feet above the sea, is a mere tri- 
fle, and every foot of it seems visible from the heights 
toward Turbia. 

Monaco is not only unique in situation but pictur- 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 117 

esque in all its surroundings of sea and hills. The 
background, up by the Corniche road, is rugged and 
bare, seamed and scarred by a thousand storms, some- 
times ashy-gray in color, sometimes lilac or crimson, 
full of solitudinous grandeur. But Monaco and Monte 
Carlo, which are practically one place to the eye and 
in reality, are situated in the midst of tropical trees 
and greenest foliage, terraced gardens and elegant 
lawns, and have homes of the wealthy and indolent 
classes in profusion. Monte Carlo, seat of the most 
luxurious gambling of modern times, approximates in 
finish to the gardens of paradise, while its older broth- 
er, Monaco, is sturdier and plainer. The two places 
constitute one of the cleanest localities in all France, 
and compel us to w^onder how so rare a bit of natural 
and artificial beauty could be preempted for the past 
forty years by the blacklegs of Europe, and, more 
wonderful still, how it could remain an independent 
principality for so many centuries. The Greeks here 
founded their first civilization in Western Europe ; Vir- 
gil and Strabo mentioned it in their days; Scipio Afri- 
canus stepped on this bit of land on his way to Spain; 
and so it has had a history. Nevertheless, its inde- 
pendence deserves to be described by a Macaulay, and 
its gambling vices denounced by a Luther! 

I first went into the gambling establishment be- 
fore going up the small hill above it to Monaco prop- 
er. It is called the Casino, and was erected, it seems, 
on the foundations of an ancient church. A magnifi- 
cent building, decorated with the m.ost artistic of 
French frescoes, constructed only about forty-two 
years ago. One must register as he enters and re- 
ceive a pass. If under eighteen, he is not permitted 
to go further than the entrance hall. Everj^body with- 
in its rooms is decorous in behavior and well-dressed, 



118 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

as in a handsome private house. Carpets and furniture 
are most elegant and in the height of good taste. I 
saw the various costly gambling tables, with men and 
women seated around them playing in perfect quiet, 
and many standing by as onlookers. It is astonishing- 
ly decorous for a gambling place. Lyman Abbott said, 
after he saw it, that it was " an exceedingly well reg- 
ulated, eminently respectable, entirely decorous, but 
veritable hell." I presume the latter description is a 
fair one, to judge from the suicides the Casino makes 
and the characters and purses it bankrupts. I watched 
the roulette players at several of the tables, and saw the 
gold and silver being taken up by the winners — some- 
times; usually they were swept off into the bank. 
Monte Carlo rarely loses, and, while it is said the 
"bank" is often broken, this means that for the day 
the stakes put up by the bank are exhausted and no 
more are put up, but next day the dead bank is very 
much alive again. Here is the definite statement of 
what the roulette game is : 

''Roulette is played with a circular tray revolving 
on a pivot, and a ball spinning round in the opposite 
direction. When the tray ceases to rotate the ball 
drops into one of the numbered compartments round 
its edge, corresponding with the numbered squares on 
the table. Should the ball drop into the compartment 
of the tray corresponding to the number on the table 
upon which the player has placed his coin he receives 
35 times his stake. When the ball drops into zero the 
bank wins all the stakes on numbers, but not any on 
zero, which like the numbers counts 35 times the stake 
to the winner. When zero wins, any stakes in any 
of the ' Chances Simples ' are put en prison, that is, 
each in its respective small rectangle, till the next 
\ jeu ' ; when, should a number within its ' Chance ' 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 119 

turn up, the stake is returned. The smallest sum ad- 
mitted at roulette is five francs and the largest six 
thousand francs, or £240." 

Another game is " Trente-et-Quarante," played by 
cards. The smallest sum here admitted is twenty 
francs and the largest twelve thousand francs. The 
winner receives an amount equal to his stakes. 

There were more men than women playing, but 
not in a greater proportion than two to one. 

The earnestness, often sadness, in the faces of the 
players, was perceptible, but one rarely gave up his 
seat to another unless his cash was all exhausted. 
From eleven in the morning to eleven in the even- 
ing, this scene goes on, every day in the year, 
and three million dollars of the gains of the bank go 
to keep the Prince and the principality out of debt 
(there are no taxes) and a million or two go into the 
pockets of the lessees. "At the close of the fiscal year 
of 31st of March, 1899," says the local guidebook, 
'' the total of the takings at the tables amounted to 
£980,000," which is close to $5,000,000. Of this sum I 
believe the Prince of Monaco obtains half a million 
dollars. If gambling is anywhere " respectable," it 
is here. And here it means the respectability of get- 
ting rich without labor, getting poor without con- 
scientious losses, and being a suicide at the end. The 
total number of suicides per month is said to be six, 
but no record of them is taken. 

The surroundings of the Casino consist, on the one 
side, of luxuriant exuberancy of tropical plants and 
trees, and, on the other, of one splendid avenue of 
palms. Beside them are some rather tawdry but 
expensive eating-houses and high-priced shops. It is 
an absolutely clean place as to outward nuisances. It 
did not show an over-abundance of street life, but per- 



120 BKIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

haps June is not the proper month in which to deter- 
mine the appearance of its usual population. 

While eating at the Cafe Paris, opposite to the 
Casino, a gentleman told me he had been observing a 
lady who had been endeavoring to borrow some few 
hundred francs from a man who sat with her at an ad- 
joining wine table. She said she had lost every franc,, 
but knew luck would turn, and she wanted the oppor- 
tunity to redeem herself. He refused. She cried bit- 
terly and left him, and probably borrowed of some one 
less impregnable to her tears. 

The Prince of Monaco was in Paris, where he us- 
ually is, it is said, spending the overplus of his divi- 
dends from the Monte Carlo casino. He is a handsome 
man, and his hobby has been chiefly a scientific one, of 
deep-sea sounding. To go to his palace in Monaco^ 
proper is to ascend the rather steep but well-graded 
winding road, which leads to it and to the town around 
it. It is a compact city, laid out in squares, walled.. 
On the battlements are bifurcated old towers. Cy- 
press and palm trees intermingle, and on the side of 
the hill among the rocks are prickly pear and many 
wild flowers. Aloes and roses grow side by side. The 
palace is quite large, with an exterior not specially 
ornate, but it is neat and homelike within. There are 
galleries and apartments handsomely decorated; one 
room called the '' York Chamber " is furnished in sat- 
in and gold. To one who has never been within a real 
occupied palace, this is a good introduction to a royal 
home, but after the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, or 
the New Palace in Berlin, one is not likely to enthuse 
over it. 

I was really glad to get out of this famous princi- 
pality, with its wealth of buildings, flowers and strange 
background scenery. There was an unreality about: 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 121 

it, or a satiety, that was depressing. The place bodes 
good neither for France nor for civihzation. The 
brave, sweet music of grand human achievement is not 
here in response to any chord that a gambler can 
strike. There are only greed, wealth and fashionable 
wickedness, to which the words of an ancient wise man 
well apply : '' The wages of sin is death." 

The drive from Monte Carlo eastward is chiefly re- 
markable for the lemon groves, that, beginning at 
Monte Carlo, reach their perfection in and around 
Mentone. Such fruitage I have never observed else- 
where. The lemons are of several varieties, and of 
varying shades of color. The verdani is the kind us'- 
ually chosen to send to America; the petit cedrat has a 
peculiar glossy skin; ihtaspernum,^Nh^ch. has no pips, is 
one of the best, though some travelers think the kind 
called the Nice lemon is the superior of any. Some 
trees have dark leaves and some light. Some lemons 
have rings, some look like a radish in shape, some like 
a pear. There are over a hundred varieties catalogued. 
When the spring has no days in it in which the ther- 
mometer goes below the freezing point, the lemon- 
yield furnishes a great crop — thirty millions of them 
sometimes — and constitutes the wealth of the Mento- 
nese people. When it approximates to freezing, fires 
are built in the orchards and are kept going all night. 
Much care is bestowed on the ground and trees, and 
the fruit is carefully picked for the market. Mentone 
is so protected by lofty hills, ranging up to 4,000 feet 
high on the north, that it can grow lemons, wheji at 
Nice or Cannes they will not flourish. For this reason 
— climatic mildness — Mentone is probably the choice 
spot of all the Riviera for invalids as well as lemons. 

Mentone is not a small village, but a city of almost 
ten thousand souls. It covers much territory, and is 



122 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

attractive both from the sea and from any approach 
to it. Its hotels are well-kept, at prices not extrav- 
agant. While there is far less style there than at 
Monte Carlo or Nice, there is much more comfort and 
there are more opportunities for genuine rest. Excur- 
sions into the hills are numerous and the drives full of 
beauty. Queen Victoria, who was here in 1882, liked 
it nearly as well as Cannes. My judgment is that Men- 
tone to-day has more quiet and less of the frivolities of 
pleasure than any spot along the southern French 
coast. Like all the localities chosen as winter resorts 
on this coast, it is situated upon a large bay, which is 
subdivided by a hill into two smaller bays. The build- 
ings stretch not only along the water for a mile or two, 
but back, up and up, to gray limestone clififs, that have 
olive orchards, lemon groves and thousands of dark 
pines. The roads are not the best, and they are very 
steep, and these two factors make the drawbacks to 
excursions. 

It fell to my lot to have a restful Sunday at Men- 
tone, and none more restful have I ever experienced. 
Just back of the hotel was the sea; the bright, blue, 
warm sea, lapping on the beach by day and night, with 
that soft murmur which reminded one of the cradle 
days of the family, when mother's lullaby put her babe 
to sleep. Whenever I awoke at night, I heard that 
gracious, tender, soothing melody, as if the voices of a 
million years of eternity were calling to me to be at 
peace. I do not know whether at times rough south 
winds hoarsely blow along this beach and awaken ter- 
ror, but on these two June evenings, and all through 
that Sunday morning and afternoon, the tones of the 
Mediterranean were dulcet and harmonious, full of 
gentleness, of love and of hope. 

There is the old town up on the spur of the moun- 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 123 

tain, and the new town down by the seashore, and each 
has its attractions. The old town has lofty buildings 
and the public cemetery, while a castle crowns the up- 
permost terrace. Ninety-five steps take one to St. 
Michael's church, with its two charming spires. In 
the new town are shops of all kinds and people of all 
sorts, but, for the most part, the latter are well-dressed 
and well-behaved, and I saw no strange human sights 
that jarred upon the ^ense of propriety during the 
Lord's day, as in Spain, and in many parts of Italy. In 
the Protestant cemetery Hes John Richard Green, the 
historian, and it is one of the most lovely of the burial 
spots in Europe. When Napoleon was Consul and 
General-in-Chief of the army in Italy, he resided at 
No. 3 in the Rue de Brea. Queen Victoria resided in 
a Swiss chalet in the East Bay. 

Generally speaking, Mentone is dull. That is to 
say, there is less life manifested here than either in 
Cannes or San Remo, and far less than in Nice or 
Monte Carlo. So if one desires activity, plenty of so- 
cial life, brightness in people, he will not stay long 
at Mentone. But if he desires repose, loves quiet se- 
renity, looks for absolute rest, here is a choice spot. 
I shall ever carry Mentone in memory as a charmed 
bit of the beautiful in Nature and of the quiescent and 
somnolent in daily routine, such as are good for the 
jaded body and the tired mind. 

Farther on the Corniche road I did not drive. The 
locomotive took me quickly to San Remo, past Venti- 
miglia, which is the frontier town of Italy. I am told 
there are some superb views all along the public road- 
way to Ventimiglia. Just east of this town the river 
Roya empties into the sea, and it was up that valley 
that Hannibal, the Carthaginian, marched when he 
made his famous passage over the Alps, B. C. 218. 



124 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

The locality had its Roman temples, and an amphi- 
theatre, still partially preserved, proves how flourish- 
ing this old ** Ligiires Intemelli," (whence the modern 
Ventimiglia), was in the days of Augustus Caesar. The 
town next eastward is Bordighera, famous for its date 
palms. There are said to be ten thousand palm trees 
in the vicinity, and for over three hundred years past 
some of them have contributed their branches for the 
Easter festivities in St. Peter's at Rome. As there is 
no tree in the world more beautiful than the date palm, 
unless it be the cocoa palm (on the whole I think I 
must give preference to the former), it is hardly too 
much to say that Bordighera, with its mixture of olive 
foliage and giant palms, some of the latter extending 
skyward a hundred feet or more, presents an unusual- 
ly interesting sight. 

It is not many miles — perhaps six---easterly from 
Bordighera to San Remo, whose soft climate has 
caused it to increase of late years faster than many of 
its rivals. San Remo is less attractive as to its back- 
ground than Mentone, and less so in every way than 
Nice or Cannes. But it is a picturesque spot. The 
old part of San Remo is peculiarly fascinating. There 
the streets are narrow, some of them being actual 
stairs, and many of the houses are held upright by 
masonry, which, like bridges, span the way, and are 
joined to the houses on the opposite side of the street, 
much as the Rialto joins the two sides of the Grand 
Canal in Venice. It is a place abundant in flowers and 
has the usual pretty views of the sea. I went into the 
Protestant cemetery on the hill to find for a friend the 
grave of his once traveling companion, and the spot 
was full of graves of English-speaking people, who 
had journeyed to San Remo in search of health, but 
found heaven nearer to them than their earthly home. 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 125 

The patron saint of the town is St. Romulus, the an- 
chorite, who preached Christianity there in the early 
centuries, and, after his hermitage, called Eremo, the 
town probably took its modern name. There are plen- 
tiful drives and walks beyond the town into the hill 
country, and the still, far Alps lift their brows toward 
the skies in the same serenity and proud regality that 
distinguish them wheresoever the eye rests upon 
their outlines, be it in France, in Italy, or in their 
more native heritage, freedom-loving Switzerland. Of 
wild flowers, it is said there are none so fascinating 
as in the valley of Ceriana, which lies near to San 
Remo, and the whole region is full of fauna and flora 
that will delight the botanist. 

The seacoast continues to be charming for every 
mile of it from San Remo to Genoa. The railway gives 
only glimpses, at too close range to get into the vision 
all the lights and shades of the charming water. It is 
a part of the Riviera little dwelt upon by others, and 
seems to be chiefly a way of reaching the capital of 
the northwest of Italy — Genoa, which has given birth 
to many navigators, some statesmen, not a few artists, 
and a host of soldiers. Genoa is always homely — in 
some parts of it; always beautiful — as seen from the 
sea; always bustling — in streets and in harbor; and it 
has suburbs exceedingly pretty. It is a commercial 
city; one given to business and not to any supernumer- 
ary arts " for art's sake." In its heyday of glory as a 
fighting principality it was proud, vainglorious, sel- 
fish, grasping, and it fought alike Venice, Pisa and 
Florence in order to be master. It did gain, on the 
whole, the mastery, but it did no one act in war to 
prove to mankind that it was worthy of a great name. 
When it gave birth to Columbus, however — if the 
prevalent opinion as to his birthplace be correct — it 



126 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

did more for the world than during any other hundred, 
or five hundred, years of its existence. 

Was Columbus born in Genoa? Many have doubted 
it, but such doubters seem to have desired to add lau- 
rels to a locality in which they were interested. Co- 
lumbus, himself, said he was and the evidence is quite 
wholly that way. The place is shown — an extremely 
narrow but comely house on one of the leading streets, 
37 (old number, now between (yy and 69), Vico Dritto 
di Ponticello. It is of five stories, w4th two windows 
in each story. A marble tablet gives the particulars. 
If this be, indeed, the actual birthplace of the discov- 
erer of America, it is a building Americans may well 
desire to have preserved for ages to come. 

The street scenes of Genoa are always peculiar and 
will not soon be forgotten. The steep steps, leading 
up to streets above streets, the lines full of clothes 
hanging over the narrow alleys, the filigree and coral 
jewelry displayed in the shop windows, the curious 
native population of the poorer sort, and then, over 
against these, the magnificent churches and palaces, 
interest one tremendously, to say the least. Those pal- 
aces, of which there are many coming down to us from 
the splendid days of the Republic of the Sixteenth Cen- 
tury, are immense, massive structures, well-preserved, 
solemn and dull without, semi-attractive within, but 
not half so interesting as the palaces of Florence or 
Rome. The Campo Santo — the burial place of the 
nobility, and of the poor also, where all meet on one 
common level — is really deserving of close attention 
and study. Here amid roses in profusion the costliest 
marbles perpetuate in peculiar and pathetic forms the 
memory of those lost in death. Some do not like the 
impressions left by this style of statuary, but it is de- 
cidedly Genoese, and must be seen to be understood. 



THE RIVIERA, FRENCH AND ITALIAN 127 

Nowhere else in Italy is there a Campo Santo so inter- 
esting as in Genoa. That Mazzini rests there will take 
tO' it many an American who loves to honor patriotism 
under whatever sun it is born, or in whatever nation 
or clime it has had worthy exemplification. Among 
other men whose histories touched Genoa at birth, 
were Bonfaddio, he whose letters were as graceful as 
Cicero's; and Paganini, he whose violin drew tears and 
smiles from a whole world. Dickens wrote in Genoa 
one of his Christmas stories, " The Chimes." Marco 
Polo composed his famous volume when he was there 
in prison. Dante, Petrarch, Chaucer, were each resi- 
dents of the city for brief periods, and have left liter- 
ature about it which proves they were not averse to its 
then beckoning attractions. 

Some years ago, when I first visited Genoa, I went 
out to see the Villa of the Marchese Pallavicini, west- 
ward of the city, near Pegh. It was reputed to be a 
remarkable landscape garden, with all kinds of semi- 
tropical vegetation, odd grottoes, temples, kiosks, pa- 
godas, statues, obelisks and " trid-c scenes." And so it 
was. It did not please me as much as I anticipated, 
mainly because it was too artificial. But it deserved 
the time given to it. Every variety of charm of gar- 
den, wood, water and structure was there to interest 
and amuse. There was a distinctive foreign air about 
it, and the guides deHghted to exhibit its surprises. 
There were winding walks, rich, tangled growths, cas- 
cades, summer houses, lakes, and fine, rugged hills in 
the background. Eucalyptus, camphor, coffee, pep- 
per, cedar, cork and magnolia trees grew in luxu- 
riance. Figs, citrons, oranges, oleanders, myrtles, 
palms, sugar cane, azaleas abounded. Curious spot, 
but not comparable with Genoa itself. 

Genoa closes the Western Riviera. Eastward the 



128 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

great bay continues to curve, and the Eastern Riviera 
opens upon tamer views and more wind-strewn beach- 
es. Yet all the way to Spezia is historic ground. 
Spezia is where Shelley lost his life, and where his 
ashes, after the fire that consumed his body, were so 
reverently gathered by his friends, Byron, Hunt and 
Trelawny. A sadly fascinating spot, where a great ge- 
nius met an untimely end. Who does not like to read 
how strangely beautiful was the scene when the crema- 
tion ceremonies occurred : " The day was superlatively 
lovely; the sea, as smooth as glass, scarce rippled on 
the yellow sand at their feet; the pyramidal marble 
fountains of Carrara gleamed white on the eastern hori- 
zon, and cooled the air, as with Alpine snow, while the 
flame of the pyre, whose extraordinary beauty was 
remarked on at the time, wavered and quivered as it 
mounted up towards its source in the sun." 



VIII.— THE ''WHITE CITY" OF SICILY. 

THE EARLY morning sun flooded the heights 
of Monte Pellegrino with ruddy splendors, 
and made of the sea a couch of amethyst and 
of the heavens a curtain of opal, as we steamed 
into the harbor of Palermo, and made a first 
acquaintance with Sicilian shores. The aspect of 
the general scene was not so wholly unfamiliar; some- 
how I had viewed the like of it in another locality, but 
just where I could not recall. On the coast of Greece, 
perhaps ; there was certainly something Grecian in the 
contour of tall and graceful Pellegrino, with its pur- 
plish color, so titanic and so regal in the morning light, 
and in those olive-crowned heights to the eastward, 
on whose side, like some Tuscan town of the Apen- 
nines, sat Monreale, the cathedral-centre of the wor- 
shipers of the days of King William the Good. A 
white city was before us, not so beautiful from the 
dock, where the outlook over it was much restricted, 
but from a distance captivating, almost haunting. 
Mother of cities, Palermo seemed to beckon the stran- 
ger to her gates with joyful hand. 

Palermo is called the "Joyful;" it is a good name 
for her. From the moment I entered to the hour I 
left, the people were sunny, like the climate; helpful, 
with true Sicilian courtesy; gratified at receiving 
strangers and ready to treat them kindly and well. It 
is a large city, boasting of a population of more than a 
quarter of a million; a proud city, having in her pos- 
session much wealth in art and culture in her citizens ; 



130 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

an attractive city, superb in location and rich in one of 
the finest winter cHmates on earth. The curve of the 
bay, Hke that of Naples, is a perpetual poem, and the 
outstretching Oreto valley, or ''Shell of Gold," extend- 
ing from that bay back toward the acclivities of Mon- 
reale, is at every season of the year a thing of almost 
incomparable beauty. 

Monte Pellegrino is an enlarged Gibraltar, rising 
up two thousand feet above the sea. Near its sum- 
mit is the grotto where for five centuries was buried 
the niece of William the Good. She it was whose 
bones, when found in 1664, were taken to Palermo and 
stayed the plague. In consequence St. RosaHa is now 
the patron saint of Palermo. But it is not sufficient to 
visit her shrine in the city and there pray for the pro- 
tection of her shade. The multitudes go yearly, on 
September the third, to the Grotto, where is a chapel, 
and it must be a sprightly and gay spectacle on one 
of the clear first days of this beautiful fall month, al- 
ways so attractive in Sicily, to see the crowds jostling 
and pushing up that steep hill, in all kinds of attire, 
that they may secure some blessing from their patron 
lady, who has been dead for fully eight hundred years. 
The mountain is wonderfully like the far end of Capri, 
but looks more desolate, and is less wooded. It lies 
to the west of Palermo, about three miles distant, and 
in cool weather is a favorite walk for pedestrians, who 
do not mind the steep climb to secure noble views. 

Palermo, it is to be remembered, hes on the north 
coast of Sicily. Its bay has a crescent sweep of about 
twelve miles, and in this respect is but a miniature of 
the great bay of Naples, whose semi-circuit is of thir- 
ty miles, from Pozzuoli, once a commercial port, 
where Paul landed on his way to Rome, to Sorrento, 
where the lemon and the orange trees are supposed to 



THE *' WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 131 

be in perpetual bloom. Palermo really looks out 
toward the northeast, as if with her warm, sweet eyes 
turned toward Italy. And she is an Italian city. Syra- 
cuse and Messina, Catania and Taormina, on the con- 
trary, look out due east — to Greece, from which they 
anciently drew all their histor5^ and inspiration. Gir- 
genti faces the south — toward Africa — and somehow, 
when there, I fancied her appearance more Cartha- 
ginian than Roman or Grecian. These may be fancies, 
but Sicily stood at the gateways to these three great 
former nations, of Rome, Greece and Carthage, and 
between them all was almost crushed and ground to 
powder. Yet Nature did for Sicily what Man could 
not. Nature made her so beautiful that even in her 
ruins she heroically refuses to fill a grave. 

Our hotel at Palermo was the ** Palmes;" one of 
those few hostelries of the Mediterranean world which 
are as attractive as their names, and, once entering 
which, few can say " good-bye " to the kind host with- 
out deep regret. It occupies a small square, by itself, 
and behind it, as well as across the street, it has gar- 
dens of as perfect palms as one can find in any south- 
ern latitude. There are other tropical trees beside, an 
abundance of them, and cages of monkeys and birds; 
and in the cool recesses of this lovely shade the hot- 
test day is one long stretch of hours of calm delight. 
The proprietor of the " Palmes," Signor Enrico Ra- 
gusa, who has often entertained royalty at his house, 
has gathered together many quaint specimens of art, 
including curious prints of the Napoleon era (in my 
own room were seven pictures of Napoleon and one 
Madonna), and is himself a most intelligent man, help- 
ful to strangers, and the soul of courtesy. The rooms, 
having tiled floors, with rugs, brass bedsteads, and 
neatly papered walls, were altogether comfortable. 



132 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Palermo has too many treasures for the traveler to 
note them all in a brief sketch. I shall name a few 
only. But, first, attention should naturally be given 
to what will early attract the comment of the stranger. 
I refer to the principal street-sight, the ordinary Sicil- 
ian cart, which flourishes here in its genume unique- 
ness. Every laborer, however humble, who hauls a 
load, has a " saintly " cart, one that is not only orna- 
mental in its woodwork, but elaborately painted, even 
to the axle-tree, with the gayest of colors as a back- 
ground, on which are placed in other colors either 
Biblical incidents, or legendary ones connected with 
the life of the patron saint of the city whence the own- 
er of the cart comes. If he be a Palermonian, he will 
be sure to have something concerning St. Rosalia on 
at least one of the four panels of his cart. If his 
birthplace is in another city, its saint will adorn 
his vehicle. The Crucifixion scene often occurs, and, 
strangely enough, among the historical subjects se- 
lected for one side of the cart, chosen because it has 
appealed powerfully to some of the Sicilians, may be 
the picture of Tell shooting the apple from his son's 
head! Greek mythology has furnished the favorite 
themes for the painter, but more modern massacres 
and assassinations are not infrequent. In fact every- 
thing known and unknown, in heaven or in earth, 
seems not to be beyond the imagination of the decora- 
tors of these " carrette," as they are termed. Attached 
to each cart is a large mule or small donkey, the har- 
ness of which is as elaborate as the cart itself. Brass- 
mounted, with exquisitely wrought trappings, rosettes 
and ribbons of all hues give them plenty of colors. On 
the heads and backs of the animals are nodding pom- 
pons. On the whole the animals looked even more 
fantastic than the interesting vehicles. I doubt not 







a^».« Aftv 



^-^iJLai 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 133 

both cart and harness are often heirlooms in families, 
preserved as priceless treasures long after they are 
worn out. These yellow-wheeled, yellow-shafted, red, 
black, orange or brown-bodied carts, with gaily ca- 
parisoned mules, and often boy-drivers, sometimes 
with a whole load of boys, are a scene by themselves 
and I never tired of them. They are visible more or 
less all over Sicily, but nowhere to such an extent as in 
Palermo. 

The finest work of art in Palermo is the Cappella 
Palatina, the chapel of the palace of King Roger the 
Norman. Roger's father was one of a large family of 
Norman political brigands; one of the twelve sons of 
Tancred de Hauteville, nearly all of whom were men 
of iron strength, with tremendous energy and con- 
summate political tact. They conquered principalities, 
used gold with which to influence the courts of Eu- 
rope, gave heroes to the Crusades, and built structures 
that were forerunners to the mightiest of the cathe- 
drals of both the Continent and England. History has 
rarely handed down to future generations so notable a 
family of plundering rulers and craftsmen as that of de 
Hauteville. They were conquerors; Moors, Greeks 
and Lombards alike fled from before their armed men, 
and left them to become known as " The Rulers of the 
South." 

Count Roger was the first Norman king of all Sic- 
ily. He was called the " Great Count," and was great. 
The chroniclers say he had large, clear eyes, fair hair 
and broad shoulders. It was in the year 1060 when he 
made his first incursion into Sicily. The island was 
then divided into petty divisions, or might as well have 
been, for princes and politicians were quarrehng 
among themselves. They united against him— Greek 
and Moors — and were routed in a few tremendous 



134 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

conflicts. In one of these battles, four hundred Nor- 
mans defeated fifty thousand Saracens. Palermo was 
among the last of the numerous cities to surrender, 
after an eight years' struggle, although Syracuse, Gir- 
genti and Taormina fell into Roger's hands afterward. 
In 1087 the conquest was completed. Then Count 
Roger shared the rule of the island with his brother, 
Robert, and died in iioi, aged seventy years, leaving 
a name to which Sicilians well added the title of "Fath- 
er of his Country." 

It was not this Roger, however, but his son, Roger 
XL, who united the whole of the lands conquered by 
the elder Roger and his brother, Robert, into one 
splendid kingdom, and who was so great a scholar, 
philosopher and poet. It was Roger II. who drew in- 
to his court the Arabian savants and architects; who 
superintended the writing of a wonderful treatise of 
universal geography and constructed the finest speci- 
men of mosaic architecture in all Italy. He wrote 
poetry; he made Norman-French fashionable where 
Greek had been the only polite language; he took a 
Pope prisoner; he made the monarchy of Sicily secure 
for generations, and he gave to his people a series of 
just laws, that are the admiration of statesmen to-day, 
and were the envy of other nations in his own time. 
It was he who carried forward the work, already begun 
in Venice and elsewhere, of constructing those semi- 
Norman, semi-Byzantine edifices for worship in south- 
ern Europe, which are so bejewelled with mosaic dec- 
orations of a grand religious type, and which stand 
out in relief among the numerous splendid works of 
architecture that owe their origin to the activities 
of the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. Roger II. 
built the Cappella Palatina at Palermo. His grandson, 
William the Good, constructed the Cathedral of Mon- 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 135 

reale, on the eminence southeast of Palermo. These 
two works of art are the most beautiful that any of 
the ages since Christ has given to Sicily. 

The Cappella Palatina (the Palace Chapel) adjoins 
the ancient Palace, which antedates the time of the 
two Rogers, but which was added to by those two 
monarchs and their successors. This was always on 
the site of the castle of the city. The Palace itself con- 
tains little to attract the observer, save its fine stair- 
case, a beautiful hall painted by Velasquez, and its 
Norman tower. These are masterpieces. When 
King Emmanuel visits Palermo this Palace is still the 
royal residence. I saw the room he had only recently 
occupied; also the Queen's special room. Both were 
adorned in blue, and in one was a table of petrified 
wood from California! There were bedrooms for 
dukes and many for visitors. All in all, it is not an un- 
seemly palace for Sicily. But the Chapel is the chef- 
d'oeuvre, and is of exquisite loveliness : a gem from end 
to end. It is not large — no palace chapels are; its nave 
is but one hundred and eighteen feet long; yet within 
its walls are as fine religious mosaics as ever were put 
before the eyes of men. Wholly upon a gold ground, 
like the masterful creations in St. Mark's at Venice, 
the effect is as if all the stars of the Milky Way were 
compressed within the vaulting of a cathedral. It is 
like a casket of jewels, with every jewel a priceless 
treasure, and each set with inimitable skill. Encir- 
cling the ceiling of the nave are Cufic inscriptions. 
Upon roofs and walls is the whole history of the Bible 
from the Dissipation of Chaos to the Ministry of the 
Apostles. Below the mosaics are marbles, and these 
have richly embroidered borders of glass of various 
colors. Silver lamps hang from the roof. Turquoise, 
scarlet, green, white, black and gold patterns cover 



136 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the floor. All about are designs of lions, griffins, flow- 
ers, winged genii, and almost everything else which re- 
late to religion or to high art. The cupola is one blaze 
of glory. The grand figure of the Christ in the dome 
overhead and splendid archangels beneath him awe 
and almost awaken adoration. Everywhere there are 
signs and tokens of the Heavenly King and of His 
earthly creations. As one studies and ponders, he 
wonders how it all is that men who were so blood- 
thirsty in battle, and so uncompromising in their 
wresting of territory and gold from more helpless mor- 
tals, could be so devout and could lay so much wealth 
freely upon the altar of Jehovah. Eight hundred and 
seventy years has this miracle of stone and mosaics 
stood, and it is just as mellow, as inspiring, as wonder- 
ful to-day as when it first came forth from the hand of 
its designer. 

I saw and heard in this Chapel a few monks chant- 
ing prayers for the repose of the soul of a deceased 
brother-monk, who had died some quarter of a cen- 
tury ago, and it did not move me. But I also saw the 
clear, warm sunlight of the forenoon hour fall down, 
through the translucent windows in rainbow hues up- 
on the floor, and the polished pavement reflect back 
the prismatic colors against columns and arches, and 
these stirred all the love of the beautiful that I pos- 
sessed. Then, looking up, I saw that unimpassioned,. 
calm, grand figure of Christ in the empyrean, and 
every fibre of my being quivered with enthusiasm at 
such glorious confusion of colors intermixing with the 
awe and stateliness of the whole incomparable handi- 
work. La Cappella Palatina will never go out of my 
memory as a bow of promise, a guerdon of hope, a 
sweet and tender testimonial to the undying aspira- 
tions toward immortality, which even mediaeval bar- 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 137 

barians had, deep-buried, in the warmth of their brave 
hearts. It was a tremendous step out of Paganism 
toward Christianity when the temples of Girgenti were. 
overturned by men and by earthquakes, and this won- 
der chapel at Palerm.o was reared to the Known God! 
Naturally one's subsequent step is from this Chapel 
on the Vittoria Square to the Cathedral of Palermo, 
(called the Church of the Assumption), only a few 
blocks distant. It was constructed within fifty years 
after Cappella Palatina by an English archbishop, Wal- 
ter of the Mill, to take the place of an ancient mosque 
that had stood upon the same site. Its facade is cu- 
rious, and its two slender towers beautiful, though in- 
congruous with the great mass of architecture beside 
it. But the exterior as a whole did not impress me,, 
and the interior delighted me still less. It is said that 
in the Norman days both the interior and the exterior 
were stately and charming, but that ''additions and re- 
pairs " have stripped them of their former charms. One 
spot, within, however, is for all Sicilians hallowed 
ground, that of the Tombs of the Kings. In the first 
two chapels, at the right of the west door, are four 
sarcophagi of porphyry, much alike, all of antique de- 
sign, each one solemn and stern like the spirits of 
those buried within them. Roger II. is entombed in 
one; he died in 1154. Empress Constantia, daughter 
of Roger, is buried in another; she died in 1198. Rog- 
er's son-in-law, Emperor Henry VI., whose queen was 
Constantia, the Emperor of Germany as well as of 
Sicily, who was crowned at Rome and died when 
about to start upon a Crusade to the Holy Land, lies 
in a third sarcophagus ; he died in 1 197. In the fourth 
tomb is buried Emperor Frederick II., son of Henry 
VI., a great man, with noble qualities, learned above 
other rulers of his tim.e, a monarch who almost turned 



138 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Southern Europe upside down, and who in consum- 
mate greatness was the last of the wonderful scions of 
that de Hauteville family, whose descendants made 
such a tremendous cleavage in the traditions and cus- 
toms of his Norman ancestry; he died in 1250. Where 
the Count Roger, himself, was buried I did not learn, 
but not here. In a niche to the left is the sarcophagus 
of William, son of Frederick III. of Aragon, and in an- 
other to the right of that is Constance of Aragon, wife 
of Frederick II. Here, then, lie at least three of the 
world^s great monarchs, whose united lives spanned a 
hundred and forty-nine years, and whose activities 
kept the contiguous nations in turmoil for much more 
than a century. They sleep in absolute quiet, and look 
as if they had been undisturbed since the martial music 
sounded at their burials. Not so, however. A hun- 
dred and twenty-three years ago the remains of King 
Roger, Henry VI. and Frederick II. were exposed to 
view, perhaps for identification, perhaps to satisfy the 
curious. Those of the two first named were not in a 
good state of preservation, but the body of Ferdinand 
II. was almost as in lifC;, and was found enveloped in 
sumptuous robes, with inscriptions in Arabic. Beside 
it lay his crown, the royal apple and his sword. No- 
where in Christendom are sepulchral monuments of 
more interest than these. The church has changed, 
the city has grown and altered beyond recognition, 
the world has moved on in its imperial march, but 
these illustrious sovereigns still sleep, and will, I trust, 
now repose in peace until the Resurrection. 

The Chapel of St. John of the Hermits (S. Giovan- 
ni degli Fremiti) and its cloisters have great attractive- 
ness for all admirers of old Norman architecture. 
Founded in 11 32, this Chapel has still its five curious 
domes, because it was originally a mosque. The in- 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 139 

terior is tenantless and largely ruined. How graph- 
ically piouis are the words, still preserved in parch- 
ment, with which King Roger II. in 1148 granted this 
building and its lovely cloisters to the monks, who 
used it as a monastery: " We grant to that monastery, 
for the love of God and the salvation of our mother 
and our father, the great Count Roger I.; of the most 
serene Duke Robert Guiscard, our uncle, of most 
blessed memory; and also for the welfare of the soul 
of our consort, the Queen Elvira, of most blessed re- 
membrance; and for the forgiveness of the sins of our 
children, and all our relations, alive or dead; and for 
the particular devotion which we bear to that monas- 
tery, which is situated under our own eyes and near 
to our own place, which was built at our own expense, 
all those contiguous buildings which we have caused 
to be erected for this purpose." Over the adjoining 
cloisters grow flowers and vines, and how difficult it 
is to repeople these naves, and the narrow cloisters, 
with the cowled and barefoot monks who saw them all 
in perfect order! There are evidences still of exquisite 
decoration and Oriental splendors, which made S. Gio- 
vanni degli Eremiti then, and make it still, a haunting 
memory to the artist and a poem in stone to the ar- 
chitect. There is an old man there who sells antiques, 
worthless to be sure, but his dirty and curious shop in 
a corner of the refectory is the place where he sleeps 
and lives and eats, and it is a marvel of Italian hodge- 
podge. 

I was much interested in the shops and street 
scenes of Palermo. Each shop has a specialty: there 
are no " department stores " in Sicily. In a little walk 
on one street these were the articles made spe- 
cialties of by the shops, and I give them in the order in 
which they followed one another: Revolvers, wooden 



140 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

ware, notions, tobacco, hardware, bagging and twine, 
caps, ribbons and toys, drygoods, meat, laces, milli- 
nery, flowers, jewelry, drugs, umbrellas, macaroni. Ex- 
cellent beginning and ending: revolvers for brigands 
and macaroni for everybody. Men stood bythe wayside 
holding out before them immense trays filled with all 
sorts of small articles, such as soaps, envelopes and 
paper, canes, lemonade^ neckties, flowers, spoons, 
forks, eye-goggles, mushrooms, cakes, curious springs, 
automaton rats and mice, live puppies, fruits. Dimin- 
utive donkeys pulled carts loaded with bananas, or- 
anges, lemons and similar fruits. The oranges of Sic- 
ily I found to be the best of the v/orld — not excepting 
the famous ones of Jaffa — and so were the apricots 
and black cherries. The latter were large, without a 
flaw, and " clear meat," as one expressed it. The nar- 
row alleys were often overhung with clotheslines as 
in Genoa. ' 

One of the curious sights I observed was the meth- 
od of pulling heavy stones up to where masons were 
laying a wall on top of a new building. A derrick was 
constructed on the upper story, and boys were em- 
ployed to climb up the ladder, or provisional staircase, 
to where the stones were needed; and then, when one 
stone was attached to a rope on the ground, the boys 
— either one or two of them — would get into a noose 
at the other end of the rope, and by their own weight 
come to the earth, raising the stone to the top as they 
descended. Rather primitive but also sure. I saw 
many lemon packing-houses, where lemons were 
packed for exportation, Palermo being the headquar- 
ters for shipping Sicilian lemons. Sloops at the 
wharves were loaded to the brim with boxes of lemons. 
The orange season was past, but the lemon season was 
at its height. 



_ J 



THE " WHITE CITY " OF SICILY 141 

There was an Exposition in progress on one of the 
main streets and some of my friends went with me to 
see it in the evening. Except a toboggan chute and a 
poor concert, there was Uttle of moment to detain us, 
however. Far finer in its effect was " the soft SiciUan 
moon," full-orbed, set high in the eastern sky, just 
as perfect as the day when it was first seen in Eden, 
everywhere a century flower of the night, but nowhere 
in the world more bewitching than over the palm trees 
and orange groves of the white city of Palermo. 

There is a fine old museum in Palermo, with a few 
good paintings and many antiquities. But if one de- 
sires to see more modern and thoroughly hideous 
" antiquities " he will not go to the Museum but to the 
Catacombs. They, of all I ever visited, were most 
calculated to horrify one as to death, and to make even 
life for the moment unenjoyable. We talk of the beau- 
tiful serenity of death and the sweet repose of the faith- 
ful who die blessed by the Church, but here all the hor- 
rors of death are openly manifested. These Catacombs 
were at first intended for faithful monks and nuns, but 
afterwards everybody desired to be buried in them, 
and only within the lifetime of the present generation 
has their use been interdicted to others than their 
guardians, the Capuchin monks, who are happiest 
when meditating over the prospect of their own dried- 
up remains resting in one of the coffins of this under- 
ground cemetery, in a near future. To reach the Cata- 
combs is no long drive, for they are almost in one 
corner of the city, being just outside the gate known 
as the Porta d'Ossuna, with numerous buildings and 
villas in close proximity. When they were dug we do 
not know; some suppose in the pagan ages. The ear- 
liest known body in them now is only about two cen- 
turies old, for all prior bones were removed to adorn 



142 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

churches, or to give centesimi to relic venders. We 
may look for no Romans, pagan or Christian, in those 
tombs, but instead for men and women who spent 
their whole pious lives in the monasteries and nunner- 
ies of Palermo since the controlling days of the Bour- 
bons. There they are, wrapped about in their last hab- 
its, their shrivelled skin beneath cowls and hoods, or 
in other dark grave clothes, their teeth protruding, 
their hands folded over their breasts. Some are in 
cases with glass tops; some stand up in corners, la- 
belled as if an exhibited article in a museum, and they 
are as dry as Egyptian mummies. All horrible to con- 
template, because devoid of whatever may make even 
the dead decent and solemn to look upon. I saw one 
coffin lid opened to show the features of a faithful cap- 
tain under Garibaldi, who died in 1866. He was pre- 
served much as if he had died yesterday. However it 
was formerly, latterly bodies of wealthy people have 
been brought here to be put in brine and "pickled" 
and then to be placed on view that their descendants 
may frequently look at and prepare to follow them! 
Signor Crispi, of Naples, the great modern statesman 
of Italy, who died in 1901, had expressed a wish that 
he might be buried in this resting-place in the Paler- 
mo Catacombs, and in some manner it was permitted. 
But his body was not preserving well — so the guide 
stated — and I saw his coffin out in a small aisle of the 
entrance chamber, where a new attempt was being 
made to petrify his body, so that his family would find 
it possible in the future to visit this underground 
tomb and see Crispi look very much in death as he 
did in life. The Egyptians knew how to embalm; the 
Sicilians seem to make a sorry attempt at it. Both 
alike believed in the final outcome of an immortality 
that would overthrow the horrors of the grave and 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 143 

set free the soul in the splendors of another world, 
and to this extent they were far ahead in knowledge of 
either Greeks or Romans. 

I have left little space for a notice of Monreale, and 
its famous mammoth Cathedral, but it is one of the 
wonders of the island. Indeed its mosaics made a 
far greater impression on my mind than those of any 
other cathedral in Europe, and I do not except St. 
Mark's in Venice. Around one vast nave the eye can 
take in, almost at a glance, the whole splendid series of 
Bible studies, whereas in Venice they must be hunted 
up in the porch, and in the various transepts and on 
the scattered side-walls of a much smaller edifice. 
Monreale Cathedral is so vast and so magnificent in 
these mosaics, that, after seeing them, one quite feels 
it is safe to return home and look at no others the 
same year. 

Monreale (Royal Mount) is reached now by a trac- 
tion railway, which goes, first, over a dusty road, and 
then ascends a steep elevation until, at a distance of 
nearly five miles from Palermo, you find yourself on a 
height eleven hundred and fifty feet above the plain, 
from which are views over the Conco d'Oro (the Gold- 
en Valley) of surpassing beauty. One of the best views 
of this valley is from the roof of the Cathedral, but 
there is a garden beside this structure from which the 
panorama of Palermo, Pellegrino, the sea, and the 
valley between, is almost as good. You do not get the 
background, but the sweep of the foreground is the 
same. 

The Cathedral is in the midst of a town of sixteen 
thousand people. Externally it is rather plain. But it 
has a magnificent doorway and bronze doors of 1186. 
The king, whose reHgious bent gave this splendid me- 
morial of his reign to his people, was William the 



144 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Good, grandson of the great Roger who built the Ca- 
pella Palatina. It is said to have been constructed in 
eight years; it was consecrated in 1182. The church 
is in the usual form of a Latin cross, and is three hun- 
dred and thirty-four feet long by one hundred and 
thirty-one wide — a little smaller than the Chester ca- 
thedral in England. On either side of the nave are 
nine columns of Oriental granite, stolen from Greek 
and Roman buildings, plain, but with charming Cor- 
inthian capitals of delicate Byzantine workmanship. 
These support pointed arches, and above the arches 
is the wall in which are implanted those entrancing 
mosaics, although in the transepts and elsewhere there 
are continued the same imperishable studies of the 
Jewish leaders to the time of the Apostles. Entranc- 
ing, because on such a gigantic scale, and covering so 
much surface; the surface, indeed, incrusted with the 
gold and rich colors amounting to some seventy thou- 
sand square feet! There are not a few scenes of the Bi- 
ble represented here which must provoke smiles, but 
they carefully depict the ideas of the religious minds 
of seven hundred years ago. They culminate at the 
far apse, above the high altar, in one of the stateliest and 
most massive figures of Christ to be found anywhere in 
pictorial art. Christ is here represented as the '' Crea- 
tor," and is surrounded by a galaxy of Apostles and a 
■vision of the Apocalypse. Splendid, solemn, thought- 
ful, majestic figure, the incarnation of Wisdom and 
Force, with right hand uplifted in curious gesture to 
bless, and the left holding an open book, on the pages 
of which are inscribed: " I am the light of the world; 
whoso followeth Me shall not walk in darkness." This 
awful visage, not yet furrowed by sorrow, nor " ac- 
quainted with grief," with long, flowing hair and full 
beard, wearing a blue mantle, partly open, showing a 



THE "WHITE CITY" OF SICILY 145 

red tunic embroidered in gold, dominates, but does 
not terrify, saddens but does not depress. Its majesty 
becomes an abiding reality in the heart of the on- 
looker. Look where I would, at signs and symbols, at 
prophets, priests and rulers of the Old Testament and 
apostles of the New, this one sublime figure in the dis- 
tance, standing out in solitary grandeur, followed and 
overawed me. I could not fly from it. Its glance pen- 
etrated, its spirit pervaded the whole edifice from end 
to end, from marbled floor to lofty dome. Byzantine 
mosaics of Christ and the Apostles are always severe 
and austere; for example, the memorable ones at Tor- 
cello, in St. Mark's, at Ravenna, at Constantinople, 
but in no instance, perhaps, is there such splendor of 
dignity with austerity as in this figure of the Christ of 
Monreale. The wainscotings of cipolin, the inlaid 
marble floors, the sarcophagi of the royal William 
and of queens and princes, are all deserving of one's 
attention and interest; yet the mosaics themselves are 
the feature of the Cathedral which override everything 
else, and make the one imperishable impression that 
the visitor will always associate with this wonderful 
edifice on that high hill above Palermo. 

Of course I must not pass by the cloisters adjoin- 
ing, now, alas! but a semblance of what they were in 
ornamentation, for they, too, had mosaic-encrusted 
pillars of Moorish magnificence. These mosaics have 
disappeared; have been plucked out piece by piece 
from the columns, but the enchanted architecture re- 
mains. The Alhambra of Granada is almost here in 
skeleton in these exquisite cloisters. Two hundred 
and sixteen richly sculptured pairs of columns sur- 
round the court, each column of marble, their beau- 
tiful capitals of different patterns, and the shafts of 
most elaborate and delicate designs. It may be the 



146 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

monks of Monreale (for these cloisters were part of 
the Benedictine monastery attached to the Cathedral) 
were joyless like the Franciscans of the succeeding 
century, and like many Dominicans whom I have seen 
with bowed heads in various parts of Italy, but, if so, 
the evidences belie them. In such a place, with such 
surroundings, amid such incomparable beauty, with 
the fair heaven of Sicily always a-smile overhead, they 
could not have walked those cloisters amid the fra- 
grance of flowers, the plash of fountains and the lov- 
ing sunshine, and been so sorrowful and ascetic as 
their followers in after centuries. Not poverty and not 
starvation, not darkness and not the ugliness and de- 
formities of a world of sin without, could ever have 
sapped for them the glories from these cloisters, or 
stripped from the walls of their Cathedral bright visions 
of future immortality. 



IX.— THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE. 

ANAPO ! The name charms by its melhfluous 
syllables. It was known in ancient Greek days 
as ''Anapus/' but geographers prefer ''Anapo." 
'' The great stream of the Anapus/' Theocritus 
called it, nearly three hundred years before Christ. 
This may mean that it was great in fame, or that 
it was a far larger river than at the present day. 
Now it is a small stream ; an insignificant one. 
But to the ancients, who worshiped it under the 
forai of a young man, and who regarded it as the hus- 
band of Cyane, it was almost a sacred river. Its praises 
Pindar and Ovid were never tired of sounding in pas- 
toral verse. The Cyane is the name of the stream 
which joins the Anapo a mile from its mouth. The 
Cyane is clear as crystal; the Anapo is turbid. Near 
their sources both streams flow through exquisite 
scenery, and it is only in the lowlands where the wash- 
ings of the soil render the waters muddy. 

My excursion to the Anapo was on an afternoon 
fit for communion with the gods. The air was warm, 
but the skies clear. There was a slight breeze from 
the west, which so increased as to make it possible to 
reach the mouth of the Anapo from Syracuse by sails, 
without the use of oars and with much gain in time. 
Generally it may require more than a half hour to 
row across the Great Harbor — the landlocked, inner 
harbor of Syracuse, on which Roman, Grecian and 
Carthaginian fleets have " locked horns " with each 
other in deadly combat and reddened the waters with 



148 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

human blood. It was the harbor on whose northerly 
bank stood one of the mighty cities of antiquity ; a city 
in which Paul had preached, and beside which, then 
as now, was the far-famed Fountain of Arethusa. A 
great city — the largest of its era. But we shall return 
to it presently. Let us be off for the Anapo ! 

Sails were hoisted at the start because of the good 
wind, and the two men-rowers handled these sails as 
well as they might have employed the oars. A bright- 
eyed boy-helper of ten was in the stern to steer, and 
plainly his was a happy lot. There were twelve of us 
in all in three boats, and, in a few minutes time, we 
were gliding over the ruffled waters. Behind was Syr- 
acuse; before, a low stretch of land, with here and 
there tall reeds, bunches of trees, some lone columns, 
and, far away in the distance, ruins of temples. Syra- 
cuse, as we receded from it, looked enchanting; so 
white, so dignified, so compact, so peaceful. The Anapo 
was invisible, but the boatmen understood the course. 
I believe they were as courteous and happy a lot of 
boatmen as ever carried travelers to port. Why should 
they not be, when in their veins was the blood of the 
real Greeks? Their visages and their manners proved 
their ancient lineage. 

In about twenty minutes we had crossed the Great 
Harbor. The sails were now taken down; the big, 
clumsy oars came out, and we pushed into a sullen 
streamlet with flat, marshy banks, and with no hints 
of approaching beauty. So small seemed the Anapo 
that I was curious to know where it rose and how 
much distance it traversed. I learned that its birth 
was in the Eraian Mountains, some twenty-five miles 
away, and that knowledge gave me an intense desire 
to return to it some day and follow its meanderings to 
the source. What genuine delight, I thought, in pur- 



^.^ 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 149 

suing the ins and outs of such an ancient river, so well- 
known to Pausanius, to JEschylus, to Cicero, up to its 
fountain head! It was now so shallow that the boats 
often grounded as they were pushed along by the 
poles, the use of oars being at first impossible because 
of the narrowness of the water-bed. Now and then it 
seemed as if our navigation must cease. But we 
pressed on to the Ponte Grande, a modern bridge, 
where there is a public road, and then went more easi- 
ly a half-mile farther, to the remains of an older and 
famous bridge. Here it is said the Athenian soldiers 
had a hot skirmish with the soldiers of Gylippus, B. C. 
413. Near this point we were obliged to leave the 
boats and walk over a viaduct, which completely shut 
of¥ the water from view, and enter other boats in wait- 
ing, after which we continued our course. The stream 
being here exceedingly narrow, lines were attached 
to each boat, and the rowers, putting them over their 
shoulders, pulled us forward. Thus far, there was no 
scenery, nor any obvious reason for our going such a 
distance to see so little, except that to the left appeared 
a few ruins of the Temple of Jupiter Olympus, of the 
Sixth Century before Christ. In that Temple were 
lodged the public treasures and registers of the Syra- 
cusan citizens, when the Athenians took Syracuse by 
siege. It is said that of the three finest known statutes 
of Jupiter in the world, one was in its portico. There 
are now visible from the river only two solitary col- 
umns, almost the sole relics of the times of Cicero, 
indeed of far earlier days, when Syracuse was in its in- 
fancy, when Rome was scarcely founded, and when 
Athens had only begun to be. 

Suddenly, in a moment, everything was changed. 
Tall papyrus began to line the banks of the Anapo, 
which now was as clear as Capri wine. There was lux- 



150 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

uriant vegetation, including many flowers and numer- 
ous berry vines. Glorious thickets appeared at every 
curve of the stream. " Et me dilexit Anapo," said 
Ovid, and who could not have exclaimed it! The sun 
had been hot since leaving the Great Harbor, for the 
breeze had wholly fallen, and usually at this hour in 
summer the rays of Sol are well up in the nineties. 
But as the papyrus threw heavy shades across the wa- 
ter, it became delightfully cool while threading in and 
out among these exquisite plant growths. From this 
point onward, amid utter stillness, save for the occa- 
sional plashing of an oar, or the dipping of the poles 
when no oar could be used, we glided along with every 
sense of inward serenity satisfied. A feeling of perfect 
repose, of absolute peace with all mankind, of kindly 
sentiments even to barbarians, ancient or modern, 
stole over us like an opiate. I could have gone to sleep 
without any effort, and with no forebodings of unhap- 
piness were the sleep to last a thousand years. But 
changing scenes forbade any drooping of the eyelids. 
At every turn was a new vision of prettiness, or of 
uniqueness, or of intense beauty. Nothing we had 
ever seen seemed quite so picturesque and fairylike as 
those twenty-feet-high, densely-growing, overhang- 
ing, feathery papyri. They were as graceful as a swan's 
throat; as dreamy as a forest of tall ferns in the moon- 
light. Rarely could we see more than two boat-lengths 
ahead because of the bends in the water course, but 
at every moment there was a new and lovely picture. 
The Venetian gondola furnishes a captivating expe- 
rience, but a boat on the Anapo excels, in that it is so 
much less pretentious and yet wanders among scenes 
so much more bewitching. Papyrus was the chief, 
but not the only adornment of the Anapo; masses of 
ranunculuses were floating about, choking up the 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 151 

channel. Dense plantations of cane — broomcorn, as I 
judged it was — were sometimes on both sides of 
the river, and occasionally overhung the banks, when 
the papyrus failed. At times there were peeps at an- 
cient olive groves, vineyards, wheatfields, or meadow- 
lands abounding in red cattle. 

I have called the entire stream the Anapo, but, 
strictly speaking, from the time it joins the Cyane it is 
the latter stream we followed up. However, to all 
readers of ancient or modem Sicilian history it is the 
name Anapo which is most famed, and no great atten- 
tion is paid to the separate technical titles of the two 
small waters that merge near the Great Harbor. The 
whole region, and the Anapo itself, are alive with his- 
toric memories. 

Sweet, dear waters of the Anapo! I see you now, 
pellucid, full of wondrously colored grasses, that nod 
and beckon to each passerby from beneath the surface, 
fringed with blue flowers like the Alpine gentian, lined 
with reeds, such as those whose tender shoots inter- 
twined in loving embrace when they cradled the in- 
fant Moses on the banks of the Nile. I learned to love 
you on first sight; may I return to you another year, 
and feel once more the soft touch of your ineffaceable 
charms ! 

The papyrus plant grows wild to-day, it is said, no- 
where else in the world except on the banks of this 
Sicilian streamlet. It was brought here, if the ancient 
account has transmitted its history accurately, in the 
days of King Hiero H., about 260 B. C, "to please 
his dearly beloved wife, Philistis." On the Nile it has 
disappeared. The few plants now shown to travelers 
at Cairo were transplanted thither from botanical gar- 
dens in Holland. So, if one is to see what furnished 
all ancient Egypt with the paper which served to trans- 



152 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

mit to future generations its sacred and profane books^ 
and which has preserved to us Greek jtoetry, plays and 
philosophy, even the Gospels themselves, he must boat 
on the Anapo, steal a papyrus stalk (if he can; there 
are guards to prevent the plunder), and then, with a 
knife and som.e pressure, guess how well the Egyp- 
tians wrought with this plant and made from it paper 
of extraordinary durability. Our boatmen did cut off 
for us some of the stalks, which were so plentiful that 
there seemed to be no harm in conveying them home 
as samples. But toward the mouth of the river the 
Govemm.ent officials, set on watch to catch just such 
plunderers as we were, took them away, though per- 
mitting some few tiny fragments to remain in the pos- 
session of one of the ladies as a souvenir of the jour- 
ney. 

About at this point, where the officials found us, 
there is a view of Syracuse under the arch of a bridge 
which is a remarkably captivating picture. I should 
like to have perpetuated it in a photograph. It would 
compare with the notable view of Rome from under 
the boughs of the cypresses on the Janiculum Hill, 
which I have often admired ; or of Jerusalem from that 
sturdy oak of the barren mount on the way to Lydda. 

On our return across the Great Harbor, I saw a 
sunset over the western slopes of the hill known as 
the Epipolse — the limit of the ancient city — which is 
still transfigured in memory as one of Nature's 
most prodigal good-nights. The sun, seen through a 
hazy atmosphere, was a burnished shield, and, as it 
touched and kissed the hilltop, every wavelet of the 
Great Harbor reflected lustrous beams like so m.any 
separate tresses of a maiden's golden hair. Soon 
roseate clouds in bits and curious shapes stole out here 
and there from unexpected places. One, high up in^ 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 153 

the sky, formed a distinct crown of purest gold. King 
Edward VII. was to have been crowned next day, and 
we had not heard of the postponement of the corona- 
tion festivities. To me it seemed as if there was his 
crown; there in the far west, toward England. I could 
not put away the thought that up in the heavens were 
written in living letters the prophetic record of a king- 
ly ceremony. How little we knew of the actual state 
of things that moment in the upper room of the left 
wing of that palace of Buckingham, where physicians 
were coolly cutting into the Sovereign's side, while 
telegraphic wires were girdling the earth with the sad- 
dening news! 

Just before the actual sunset I lay down flat in my 
boat, looked up at the clear sky, and around at the 
retreating banks of the Anapo, and then, full of medi- 
tation, but " fancy free," turned eyes toward Syracuse. 
Syracuse, once thought so regal; still a thriving but 
important modern city! It was as white as alabaster. 
None of the dross of the commonplace human beings 
and odors within it were visible or tangible ; only some 
magnificent Hnes of architecture, wholly of Sicilian 
mould, yet with strongest traces of Attic inspiration. 
There was no Acropolis in view; no Lysippus; but still 
I thought of Athens, and wondered w^hether, if Theoc- 
ritus had come to life, he would have recognized in 
that snowy mass of buildings on the island of old Or- 
tygia any resemblance to the ancient city ? And I pon- 
dered how it must have looked when all the plain be- 
yond that island, the site of the really great Syracuse 
of old, extending far up those distant slopes, was cov- 
ered with homes, villas, market-places, theatres, forums, 
temples, gymnasiums, tombs; a congregation of five 
great cities, fused into one mighty Syracuse, the abode 
in Roman times of half a million people (some say of a 

10 



154 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

million, two centuries earlier) with a walled circumfer- . 
ence of not less than twenty miles! No city of such 
size had the Greek world seen as ancient Syracuse. 
Now it is a pigmy. Yet what a lovely pigmy at the 
sunset hour! From our vantage ground across the 
Harbor, the only spot in which to view it in perfection, 
and at such an eventide as this, it is a dream; a dream 
like unto visions of the '' city not made with hands," 
the whiteness and glory of which, we are told, shall 
never fade away. 

Next morning I arose early, just after four, and 
from the balcony of my room at the " des Etrangers " 
looked out over the calm, purple sea and saw the sun 
rise over the water. It was not so gorgeous as the 
past night's sunset. But it was a bright, round orb 
there in the east, with pearly mists on its brow and 
radiant with marvelous glory. The wet locks of the 
surf took on a strange light, as if preparing to blos- 
som into supernal flowers. Yonder where that King 
of Day came up out of the deep were the Hellenic 
Isles. Had not its smiling yellow face just kissed the 
Pentelic marbles of the Parthenon and wiped away 
with gentlest hand the dews upon Mars* Hill? A 
strange feeling of pride in what was Greek in art and 
heroism stole over me. All later ages rolled away as 
a scroll. I stood face to face with blind Homer, with 
Socrates, with Demosthenes, with Phidias, with Prax- 
iteles, with ApoUodorus, their immortal works and 
their deathless glory. Why is it that ancient Greece, 
wholly pagan, still compels us to love her so? 
Is it because of her deeds of human bravery? Is it 
because of her philosophers, poets, sages? Rather is it 
not because her ideals of Virtue and of Beauty, es- 
pecially of Beauty, were clear-cut and incomparable 
models, which have been the beacon-lights for artists 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 155 

and the inspiration of writers through all the ages that 
have followed? 

To view modem Syracuse is to see only a plain, 
semi-busy, well-builded, on the whole uninteresting 
city; a city of twenty-three thousand inhabitants, liv- 
ing chiefly upon limited commerce and local trade. 
As has been stated, it is wholly upon an island at pres- 
ent, the old island of Ortygia, which is separated from 
the mainland by a very narrow and canal-like bit of 
water. Everybody seems to desire to build and live on 
that island, although the mainland adjoining is as well 
adapted for residences. 

"Ortygia, thou all-hallowed breathing-place. 
Where Alpheus lifts his weary head; 
Syracusa's bloomy grace, 
Delos' sister; Dian's bed." 

So sang Pindar, and in his day it must have been even 
more graceful in its general outlines than now. 

On the mainland is a vast slope, so gently ascend- 
ing to the west that the incline is scarcely perceptible 
until it reaches the apex at perhaps four miles away; 
the Epipolse, the highest portion of the ancient city, 
Down that great and broad slope, at whose feet lap the 
waves of the Ionian Sea, stood the major part of the 
once wonderfully busy city. To-day it is a scene of ab- 
solute quiet, of indescribable desolation. Scarcely one 
stone exists of all that mass of dwellings and public 
buildings so often described by Thucydides, Theocri- 
tus, and a host of other writers, and which Cicero de- 
clared was "the greatest of Greek cities, and the most 
beautiful of all cities." If Cicero sometimes exagger- 
ated, one cannot help feeling that any possible distant 
view of Rome, or of Athens, in his day, beside that of 
Syracuse on this sea-slope, white as marble, fair as the 
evening star, must have been tame and uninspiring. 



156 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

The real and mighty Rome was yet to be built in the 
golden age of Augustus. The great Athens was a thing 
that was past. Syracuse had just been at the fore- 
front in the arts and in architecture, and, if beginning 
to be Romanized, it held extraordinary monuments, 
and was the seat of exceptional intelligence. It is re- 
markable how such a city could have totally disappeared. 
That great slanting plain is covered with debris from 
end to end, but they are the merest indications of the 
sites of buildings. One could suppose, at first sight, 
that a glacier had passed over it, and left in its wake 
ten thousand small boulders. Disintegration of por- 
ous rock by the heat and the rains of centuries furnish 
the clue to such awful desolation. The marvel is that 
not a single column erect, not one lofty structural 
mound, remains to mark the ancient site. 

When did this vast combination of buildings first 
go into ruins ? History hardly tells, but finally, I judge, 
when the Saracens devastated it in their siege and 
conquest of A. D. 878. Whatever it was up to that 
time, the fire and sword of that period, and the sirocco 
and storms of a thousand years since, have left the 
whole of the plateau a melancholy ruin. 

"Where is thy splendor now, thy crown of towers, 

Thy beauty visible to all men's eyes, 

Thy gold and silver of thy treasuries. 
Thy temples of blest gods, the woven bowers 
Where long-stoled ladies walked in tranquil hours, 

Thy multitudes like stars that crowd the skies? 

All, all are gone. Thy desolation lies 
Bare tO' the night. The elemental powers 
Resume their empire: on this lonely shore 

Thy deathless Nereids, daughters of the sea, 

Wailing 'mid broken stones unceasingly 
Like halcyons when the restless south winds roar, 
Sing the sad story of thy woes of yore: 

Those plunging waves are all that's left to thee." 

To see the greater part of the old city's site is, ac- 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 15T 

cordingly, scarcely the work of an hour. You can 
drive along the part nearest the sea, the Achradina, in 
a half hour, and the same one, dreadful desolation is 
there, spread out as a map, with neither definitions of 
streets nor recognizable antiquities. But of course 
one will turn aside a little, and, at the southern base of 
this vast plateau, on the side nearest to present Syra- 
cuse, discover ruins worthy of days of study. He will 
see here the Greek theatre, the Roman amphitheatre, 
the caves in which were the prisons of Dionysius, so 
celebrated in the history of those cruel days of four 
centuries before Christ, the Street of the Tombs, the 
Catacombs: each spot made pathetic by a hundred 
memories of sadness and of woe. 

The Greek theatre, constructed five hundred years 
before Christ, the third largest of the ancient world, 
whose sixty-one tiers of seats (forty-six still in exist- 
ence) accommodated an audience of twenty-four thou- 
sand, is not so impressive to view as the later Roman 
amphitheatre near it. It is not above ground, as were 
nearly all Roman theatres, but cut out of it ; carved out 
of the rock itself, on a hillslope ; cut down even to the 
very stage and the proscenium. Now that the south- 
ern portion of the walls has disappeared, the view dis- 
closed of the present city and of the Great Harbor is 
striking in the extreme. Names of great queens and 
gods are still legible in this theatre. We see to-day 
inscriptions to Philistis, the beautiful wife of the ty- 
rant Gelon; to Nereis, daughter of King Pyrrhus; to 
Jupiter himself, and to Hercules. In all the ruins 
about this city, none brings one so close to the daily 
life of the people as this. We know that every great 
man or woman known to Syracusan history was as- 
sociated with these stone seats; that here, day after 
day, the best plays of the first masters of drama were 



158 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

enacted through succeeding centuries. And it was 
all before the world knew anything of Julius Caesar, 
much less of King Roger, or Garibaldi. The Roman 
amphitheatre, which is but a hundred yards or so 
away from the Greek, dates from the Christian era in 
the reign of Augustus Csesar. It is large, well-pre- 
served, poetic in its cHmbing vines and pretty wild 
flowers and in its surrounding desolate silences. 

After these theatres, and more interesting even 
than they, I saw and entered the stone quarries from 
which Syracuse was digged. They are numerous, but 
the two of chief consequence are those of Latomia del 
Paradiso and Latomia de' Cappucinni. " Prison-house 
of the Athenians " would be a better name, for none 
can look at these quarries, and not see that " seventy 
days' agony " of thousands of brave Athenian soldiers 
within those dark, deep, open mouths cut out of the 
gray-colored, soft rock that abounds on this hillside. 
It is certain that these large quarries were used for 
digging out the blocks which built up the majestic city. 
The garden in front of the quarry first-named is a ver- 
itable paradise of shrubs, fruits and flowers; said to be 
most beautiful in April when every tree is radiant with 
blossoms. Roses, pinks, carnations, forget-me-nots, 
oranges, lemons, mostly cultivated but some seeming- 
ly wild, run riot in June, however, about the beds and 
walks. Still, flowers and vines and trees can scarcely 
distract attention from the quarries, or, as they after- 
ward became, charnel-houses for the dead. Readers 
of history know that the prisoners of war after that great 
sea-fight, in which were engaged ninety thousand picked 
men, in the Great Harbor, B. C. 413, met in these same 
underground dungeons their cruel deaths. When 
the Athenian fleet was sunk, and their gallant freight 
with them, and Demosthenes, later, had to surrender 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 159 

his army in an olive field some days journey beyond 
the Anapo, these rock-caves received and echoed the 
lamentations of the captives. It was a " stain tipon 
the honor of Syracusans for all time " that those cap- 
tives were allowed to starve to death in such black 
dungeons. As Mr. Symonds eloquently expresses it, 
these caverns were ''once the Gethsemane of a nation, 
where six thousand or more freemen of the proudest 
city of Greece were brought by an unexampled stroke 
of fortune to slavery, shame and a miserable end. 
Here they dwindled away, worn out by wounds, dis- 
ease, thirst, hunger, heat by day and cold by night, 
heartsickness, and the unsufiferable stench of putrefy- 
ing corpses. The pupils of Socrates, the admirers of 
Euripides, the orators of the Pnyx, the athletes of the 
Lyceum, lovers and comrades and philosophers, died 
here like dogs, and the dames of Syracuse stood, 
doubtless, on those parapets above, and looked upon 
them like wild beasts. . . . The weary eyes turned 
upwards found no change or respite, save what the 
frost of night brought to the fire of day, and the burn- 
ing sun to the pitiless cold constellation." The pit of 
the largest dungeon is nearly a hundred feet deep, and 
is several acres in extent, and around the rocks of its 
monster mouth the pomegranates and oranges, flow- 
ering fruits and weeping cypresses, only serve to en- 
grave deeper in the heart of the traveler the pathos of 
the pitiful story. 

On the Street of the Tombs there are no inscrip- 
tions, and few fragments left by which to identity the 
sepulchres. It is far less impressive than the similar 
street at Pompeii, or on the Appian Way, or the Street 
of Tombs in Athens. That Archimedes was buried 
there we know, for Cicero found it a century and a 
half after his death, and his description of a spot so 



X^ BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

soon forgotten, the resting place of one of the great- 
est men of his age, who said ' if he had a lever long 
enough he would move the world,' is one of the things 
to be read on the spot if one desires to feel the anti- 
quity of those old, dead days. Hear Cicero: "When 
I was quaestor I discovered the tomb of Archimedes 
surrounded and overrun with brushwood and bram- 
bles and utterly unknown to the Syracusans, who even 
denied its existence. For I possessed some verses 
which I had heard were inscribed on his monument 
and that a sphere and cylinder were placed on the top 
of the tomb. But whilst I was examining all the mon- 
uments (for there is a vast multitude of them at the 
Agragian gates) I observed a little column peering 
above the brambles on which a sphere and cylinder 
were carved: and I immediately declared to the Syra- 
cusan nobles who were with me that I thought that 
must be what I was seeking. A number of men sent 
in with sickles cleared and opened out the place. When 
an approach was made we went up to the pedestal, on 
the opposite side of which appeared the inscription, of 
which the latter verses had perished. Thus would the 
noblest city of Greece, which was once also the most 
learned, have remained in ignorance of the monument 
of her most distinguished citizen, unless she had 
learned it from a man of Arpinum." Rogers in his 
" Pleasures of Memory " thus commented on the fore- 
going: 

"So Tully paused, amid the wrecks of Time, 
On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime; 
When at his feet, in honoured dust disclosed, 
The immortal sage of Syracuse reposed." 

There are some other sights in and about Syracuse 
which one will long remember. One is the Catacombs, 
entered from the Church of S. Giovanni. They seem 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 161 

somewhat later in age (Fourth Century, A.D.), but are 
so much cleaner and lighter than those of Rome that it 
is a pleasure, rather than a task, to walk through them. 
There are wide passages, many chapels, and the light 
of day almost everywhere comes in from circular holes 
above to make one's footsteps certain. The sidewalls 
have been full of tombs, and the walks extend, it is 
said, for miles in all directions. I saw no bones, but 
I did see various faint traces of early religious mural 
art, especially of peacocks, symbolic of the life ever- 
lasting. Another interesting structure is the church 
itself at the entrance to the Catacombs. Its age is 
beUeved to be eighteen hundred years, and it is a 
church above a church. In the lower church it is 
believed St. Marcian, first bishop of Syracuse, the 
same who received St. Paul when he landed from Mal- 
ta, was buried after his martyrdom. Still another 
sight is the ancient Temple of Minerva, now embraced 
in the Cathedral of S. Maria del Piliero. Its col- 
umns are quite intact, and are known to be of the Sixth 
Century, B. C. Verres carried off its treasures, and 
Cicero, in his great impeachment of that scoundrel, 
described it as having " excelled all the other build- 
ings of the city in its adornments." It stands quite in 
the centre of modern Syracuse. Not far away from this 
Temple is the scanty but impressive remains of the 
Temple of Diana, (more probably that of Apollo), an 
unusually fine work of Greek art, whose inscription is 
still clear-cut, and whose temple-base proves exactly 
where one is to find the level of the ancient city. 

One more historic site I will mention, for it cannot 
be passed by. It is the Fountain of Arethusa, directly 
beside one of the prominent streets, still running with 
clear and abundant water. Now surrounded by a wall 
of masonry, on its banks and within its bosom are 



162 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

flowering plants and some papyri. A beauty-spot; a 
spot hallowed by the mythological and poetic associa- 
tions of over two thousand years. '' We have vic- 
tualled and watered, and, surely, watering at the Foun- 
tain of Arethusa we must have victory," wrote the 
brave Lord Nelson before the Battle of the Nile. 
When the sun shines full down upon the surface of this 
sparkling water, it is so pellucid that the shadows of 
the masses of papyri make scarcely less clear to view 
the oozy covering of the fountain's bed. It is so near 
to the sea — but a few yards away — that it is a marvel 
to find a perpetual spring there. Nevertheless, the 
basin is large, the supply of water copious. Once it 
had villas all around it, and so I conjecture the sea- 
waves then beat upon a shore much farther away. Cic- 
ero says the spring was always enclosed. The Syra- 
cusans beheved that Arethusa and her nymphs had 
haunted this fountain and habitually bathed in its lim- 
pid waters. No place in old Ortygia was so loved then 
by the inhabitants; no spot within the present city is so 
loved now by them, as this same fountain. Toward 
the twilight hour of every sunny day the well-dressed 
men and maidens promenade by it in crowds; perhaps 
at times to view the brilliant sunset, usually to have 
the pleasure of greeting one another, but quite as cer- 
tainly from a desire to be near this sacred spot of their 
fathers. How much they beUeve the legend that Are- 
thusa was herself changed into a stream, and that, 
mingling with the river Alpheus, the two, under'- 
ground, joined waters at this fountain and lived there 
in a perpetual love-union, I do not know, but Shelley's 
rhythmic verses well befits its sunlit quietude : 

"And now from their fountains 
In Enna's mountains, 
Down one vale where the morning basks, 



THE ANAPO AND SYRACUSE 163 

Like friends once parted 

Grown single-hearted, 
They ply their watery tasks. 

At sunrise they leap 

From their cradles steep 
In the cave of the shelving hill; 

At noontide they flow 

Through the woods below . . 

And the meadows of asphodel; 

And at night they sleep 

In the rocking deep 
Beneath the Ortygian shore; — 

Like spirits that lie 

In the azure sky 
When they love but live no more." 



X.— GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA. 

TWO WHOLLY distinct and widely separated por- 
tions of Sicily may well be grouped to- 
. gether, because each is, in its way, the historical 
complement of the other. Girgenti is a city of 
twenty-one thousand inhabitants on the southern 
coast of the island. Taormina is a town which con- 
tains not over three thousand people, on the eastern 
coast, about ten miles due northeast from the base of 
Mount ^tna. Both were early flourishing Greek and 
Roman settlements. Both possess remains of Greek 
art as interesting as any monumental relics now to be 
found in Greece herself, except it be the incomparable 
Parthenon; also better preserved ones, because less 
devastated by wars and iconoclasts. 

In Sicily there are four points, especially, to which 
it will repay one to bend his way if he is in search of 
ancient Greek remains. Syracuse is one. Selinus is 
another. The series of temples at this latter point are 
among the grandest in Europe, but I did not visit 
them, because much out of the way and inaccessible 
by rail. Less extensive, yet better preserved, are the 
temples at Girgenti. Taormina has but one ruin, its 
theatre, which, however, deserves its reputation as one 
of the best located and most instructive of any of the 
theatres of antiquity. Both Girgenti and Taormina 
are on high hills, from which there are entrancing 
prospects over land and sea, and to have one view 
from either is to remember it for a lifetime. Historic- 
ally, one must prefer Girgenti ; for intrinsic beauty of 
situation Taormina holds the palm. 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 165 

The route to Girgenti from Palermo is circuitous, 
requiring from five to seven hours in the journey. It 
first passes along the northern sea-coast in nearly a 
due east direction to Tarmina, (not Taormina), a busy 
city of twenty-three thousand population, famous for 
its macaroni; then turns to the south, crossing various 
hills, and occasionally passing through tunnels. As 
the bird flies, it is fifty miles from the one city to the 
other. By railway the distance is computed at eighty- 
four miles. On the way there is little of novelty, the 
soil being often semi-barren. There are a few vine- 
yards after leaving the plain near Palermo, and some 
orchards of lemon trees. There were harvests of wheat 
and oats in June, but the grain was short and the 
stalks sparse owing to a want of rain. The grain is 
cut by the sickle, according to the general European 
custom. There are some hill-views in the centre of 
the island similar to those of the Highlands of Scot- 
land; views of bleak, weird, unnatural uplands. An 
unusual sight is of sulphur mines, near Lercara. 
Blocks of sulphur, ready for exportation, may be seen 
lying about in piles at the railway stations. 

There is no view of Girgenti itself, to speak of, as 
the train nears it. It is located upon the southern 
slope of a high hill, just below the summit, and the 
train approaches from the northern side of a valley. 
Carriages take passengers up to the city by a winding 
road, and it was, in fact, only when I had reached the 
*' Hotel Grande Bretagne " and ascended to its roof, 
that I understood how magnificent was the outlook 
over the immense plateau, some six hundred feet below 
to the south and east, and beyond that to the sea, still 
four hundred feet lower than that plateau. One's point 
of observation there is a full thousand feet above the 
sea, and as, when I arrived, the sun was shining in his 



166 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Strength — it was just after midday — the sparkle of the 
waves, the undulations of ether over the sandy plain, 
hot with semi-tropical rays, and the well-defined Tem- 
ples to Concord, to Juno, to Hercules and the other 
gods, looking almost like toy structures, constituted a 
medley of indefinable charms. I wanted to see those 
temples without delay, but prudence indicated that 
four o^clock in the afternoon would be a better hour 
for starting, as dinner is not served on the island until 
eight, and darkness would not come round until much 
later. Usually three hours are ample in which to see 
all the temples, if reached by carriage. 

Girgenti as a modern city did not greatly interest 
me. The street sights bore no comparison with those 
of Palermo. It is an older place, once rich and eccle- 
siastically famous. But it is not directly located upon 
the sea, and it is without either interesting dwellings 
or other buildings save a small cathedral, though with 
some good shops. It has one main business street, 
and various side streets that climb up toward the sum- 
mit of the hill, where, I presume, the people live chief- 
ly on account of the fine air and splendid views. 

Pindar is said to have called ancient Girgenti, then 
known as Acragas, "the most beautiful city of mor- 
tals," and it may have been so, but it is to be remem- 
bered that Acragas was a city that filled all the descent 
from present Girgenti to the sea-level, while now it 
has shrunken to a pigmy compared with two thousand 
and more years ago. Then its population was a quar- 
ter of a million, and it furnished the Carthaginians in 
the First Punic War with a contingent of twenty-five 
thousand armed men. I found the city small, indeed, 
as compared with its ancient predecessor, extremely 
dull, except on its one busy thoroughfare, and not un- 
modern. I also noticed that Singer sewing machines 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 167 

were sold in a prominent shop upon the main street, 
but this is a common sight even in out-of-the-w^y . 
places in Europe. I saw no peculiar Sicilian types of 
people, and the wares of the different shops were simi- 
lar to those to be found anywhere in Southern Europe. 
The hotel stairs were of marble, but the rooms were 
not particularly comfortable, and the meals only fair. 
The English language is at a rare premium in Girgen- 
ti; not so in Palermo and Syracuse. The reason must 
be that it is quite aside from the usual routes of travel 
of English-speaking tourists. The Cathedral, dating 
from the Fourteenth Century, but wholly modernized, 
was being restored and so was not readily accessible. It 
presented no great charms upon the exterior. 

At the hour of four, carriages took my friends and 
myself to those temples, and therein, aside from the 
beauty of the situation, all the present interest of Gir- 
genti merges. They are, indeed, a wonderful specta- 
cle, a real study, a unique collection of venerable and 
glorious relics of the days of the Greek gods. I do 
not know which of the seven existing remains of the 
temples claims the earliest date, but all of them appear 
to have been dedicated early in the Fifth Century before 
Christ, say a little before Pericles gave " the Golden 
Age " to Greece, and Ictinus planned the Parthenon, 
the finest temple ever erected to the worship of 
gods or goddesses in the ancient world. When I 
stood, four years before, upon the Acropolis at Athens, 
and gazed with rapture upon that transcendent ruin, 
my soul thrilling through and through with the music 
of its beauty and the incomparable historic memories 
that clustered around its marvelous pillars, pediments 
and metopes, I little realized that during the same 
century, on the island of Sicily, devout men had 
planned and constructed a series of temples to the 



168 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

same gods of the Greeks, and had there worshiped in 
a manner we hardly know how, but with all the en- 
thusiasm and love of the grand that characterized the 
age of Phidias and his contemporaries. Yet it was 
true. Somehow or other, Sicily then, as now, so fair 
in coast lines, and far richer than now in harvests, 
fruits and flowers, had attracted the predecessors of 
Pericles, and they had builded, at Girgenti, at Syra- 
cuse, and at Silenus, edifices, not alike mammoth in 
size, but all of fine proportions and as worthy of praise 
as any in the Grecian world. The Temple of Zeus at 
Girgenti was, indeed, immense, being half again as 
long and broad as the Parthenon, but, as it was never 
completed, it can hardly take rank with the buildings 
that were finished and used for worship in the pre- 
Christian centuries. 

The usual route to these temples brings one to the 
contemplation, first, of the Temple of Juno, of whose 
thirty-four Doric columns twenty-five still stand unde- 
stroyed by the earthquakes which are believed to have 
ruined most of the temples in Sicily. It, Hke all the 
other temples of Girgenti, is constructed of an amber- 
colored sandstone, whose warm tint harmonizes per- 
fectly with the reddish colorings of the general land- 
scape. Imbedded in the pillars I saw bits of oyster and 
other shells of the sea, for the sandstone is a conglom- 
erate of many deposits. The sirocco, prevalent at 
certain seasons, has driven the sand against these col- 
umns until their exterior is much disintegrated. Orig- 
inally each column was covered with stucco, rubbed 
smooth, and painted in blue, red or green. One can- 
not be so sure what must have been the effect of such 
decoration, but that it existed there is little doubt. 
White marble would have better suited the art and 
plan of the builders, we may say. But even marble be- 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 169 

comes discolored in a few years, and even their marbles 
the Greeks covered up with paint. And paint had 
this advantage, that it could be renewed, and the ob- 
ject covered freshened and made lively to the eye 
again, whenever the treasury of a temple would permit 
of such expenditure. 

A few hundred yards to the southwest stands the 
Temple of Concord, of the same form and slightly 
larger than that of Juno. These and all similar ancient 
temples were built in the form of a parallelogram, the 
front toward the rising sun. Half a millenium of years 
after this was dedicated, it became a Christian church, 
for which reason it is now in a remarkable state of 
preservation. All its thirty-four columns are standing, 
and hence it is a stately, solemn and splendid ruin. 

At another walk of three hundred yards is the 
Temple of Hercules, the same from which Verres, in 
Cicero's day, attempted to steal the statue of that god 
by night, but was prevented by infuriated citizens. I 
have never seen a ruin in which the effects of an earth- 
quake were so clearly visible as in this. Columns of 
blocks, tremendously massive, were hurled down upon 
each other in utter confusion, and only one lone col- 
umn remains in position as a silent guardian over its 
prostrate companions. This temple is surrounded by 
a wall, the gate to which must be unlocked by a cus- 
todian before one can enter. When standing on this site 
there is an unusually fine prospect of the ancient town- 
gate of the harbor, the Porta Aurea, the same by 
which the Romans entered the city, B. C. 210. The 
so-called Tomb of Theron is near, and also the Temple 
of ^sculapius, the first in excellent preservation, the 
latter only visible as a fragment. 

The grandest of all the temples comes next — that of 
Zeus, or Jupiter. Its columns are prone; its fragments 



170 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

not so numerous as those of the temples named, per- 
haps because it was never finished, but more Ukely 
because the stones have been carried away. In any 
event the ground it covers is a hundred and sixty by 
three hundred and forty feet. Diodorus said it was 
a hundred and twenty feet high; if so, only the Tem- 
ple of Diana at Ephesus surpassed it among all the 
similar structures of Greek art. In what was the holy 
place, or cella, there lies one of the three massive 
giants (gods, or caryatides), which supported that por- 
tion of the entablature. As I walked over its broken 
form I could only compare it to that gigantic statue of 
Rameses of the Nile, out in the desert where ancient 
Memphis stood. Gregorovias, a recent German his- 
torian, says of it: "And here, stretched out, this weird 
giant-form appears like a god — -Hercules, himself, who 
has lain him down, in the midst of the ruin of this Tem- 
ple, for a sleep of centuries, not to be awakened by 
earthquakes and the strife of the elements, nor by any 
syllable of the history of the little human race." It was 
this figure that gave to Girgenti its municipal motto: 
" Signet Agrigentum, mirabile aula Gigantum.*' 

Even the flutings of the enormous columns that 
remain of this temple are large enough to admit of a 
man standing in each. On one side of the edifice was 
represented, it is said, the Contest of the Gods with 
the Giants ; on the other the Conquest of Troy. Great 
themes those for great minds, yet how small compared 
with the subjects, now known to every schoolboy, of 
the Creation of Man, the Flood, the Prophecies of the 
Seers of Judea, and the Birth, Death and Resurrection 
of the Son of God. The Greeks had wonderful intel- 
lects and the most refined of aesthetic taste, but both 
these stopped short of the simple knowledge of Divine 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 171 

truth that was to be had for the asking not far to the 
southeast of the ^gean Sea. 

The most artistic of the remains of the various tem- 
ples are those of Castor and PoUux, a beautiful triangle 
amid old olive and almond trees, near a "tangled 
growth of vines, crocuses, lilies, asphodel, and scarlet 
and purple poppies." All this temple was a ruin until 
recently, when four columns were re-elevated, and 
made to uphold an angle of the cornice and entabla- 
ture. Now it is a charming bit that wc see in relief 
against the landscape, and I doubt not, when in its 
prime, this building, though smaller than any of those 
named, except of ^sculapius, was the most beautiful 
of them all. 

How quiet and peaceful was this antique scene on 
that late afternoon of a perfect June day! As if to 
mark its ancient character all the more, I saw quite 
near a threshing-floor, on which the oxen were "tread- 
ing out the corn." Off to the left — or right, just as one 
stood — was the glistening sea, with its wide beach of 
yellow sand. On the range of plateaus, on which rose 
those silent and disused temples, were the usual mixed 
signs of stunted vegetable growths, struggling for ex- 
istence under the Sicilian sun, and a wealth of wild 
flowers, but not a building save the ruins. Once a 
city, fair and brave, populous and opulent, spread out 
its white hands and fingers, hither and yon, from the 
Acropolis upon the summit of Mons Camicus, where 
now Girgenti holds an uncertain tenure of municipal 
life, down to these plateaus, and, far lower down, to the 
palpitating waves of that eternal sea. Even the birds 
have deserted the spot, and, but for tourists, who 
would ever tread this ground or think again of Tole- 
machus, Theron, or Antisthenes? Yellowish dust; 
rosy tints of unclothed rocks ; crimson snapdragons 



172 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

and yellow daisies; cacti, wondrously large and enor- 
mously old; some stunted olive trees and lizards: these 
are almost all that is left of "Acragas, the Magnifi- 
cent!" No, there is something more; I saw millions 
upon millions of shell-snails, fastening themselves to 
every spear of grass, to every stalk of grain, even to 
the stone walls, where they seemed to forget that there 
was contained no nutriment save the warmth it gave 
to their coverings. Nature must have run to seed at 
Girgenti in these small snails, which the boys gather 
by handfuls and take to their homes to be made into 
tasteful soup. Snails and lizards and ugly cacti aside, 
however, Nature never gave to the downfallen works 
of Man a more splendid tomb. Viewed from those 
heights where Girgenti sits in her loneliness, sits like 
a widow in tears, in the glow of the late affernoon, 
there is a vision of beauty before the eye of the behold- 
er which the memory of future years is likely ever to 
make more radiant. Glorious spectacle, though it be 
of death and destruction! Happy spectacle, I may add, 
for the world is brighter and lighter, tenderer and 
more worth living in, to-day, than ever it was in the 
palmiest years of those aeons of the ascendency of the 
ideas of the ancient Hellenes. 

From Girgenti to Taormina is a pretty long jour- 
ney. One could not walk the distance in a day, for in 
a direct line it is over a hundred miles. Taormina is 
the '* beauty spot of the island." It is a small place, 
perched high upon a hill overlooking the Ionian sea; 
looking out across to Italy, at the very toe of that foot 
or " boot " of Italy, which is so conspicuous a figure in 
the geographies. North of it, thirty miles, is Messina; 
south of it, twenty-five miles, is Catania. Less than 
the distance to either of these thriving cities is the 
summit of Mount yEtna, always smioking, the loftiest 



« 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 173 

volcano in Europe, as much more majestic than Ve- 
suvius as is Niagara than the Rhine Falls of German 
Switzerland. 

The railway ride from Girgenti to Catania is one of 
constantly increasing interest. Sulphur mines are 
numerous, and well-populated cities on hillcrests or 
hillslopes attest the fact that Sicily is not deserted, 
but contains a large and active population. Racalmuto 
is a settlement located in a delightful situation, as is 
Caltanissetta, the seat of a bishopric, and a city of thir- 
ty thousand people. Castrogiovanni, termed '' inex- 
pugnabilis " by Livy, almost in the center of the is- 
land, upon a hill, twenty-six hundred feet above sea- 
level, is almost as old as Syracuse. It is said to be a 
dreary city, though with wondrous views from its sum- 
mit-cliffs. This was a portion of Sicily where in an- 
cient times all things were fair and lovely to look up- 
on; "a luxuriant garden, where the hounds lose scent 
of the game amid the fragrance of the myriad flowers 
of Persephone." Now there is desolation and almost 
the desert; not a wide waste, indeed, but a spot where 
the forests, lakes and rivers of classic story have disap- 
peared, and where the best that can be said of it is that 
it has an historic past. Milton knew what it was, rath- 
er than what it is, when he spoke of this ancient Enna, 
as the Romans called it, as 

"that fair field 
Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower, by glorious Dis 
Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain 
To seek her through the world." 

It is yet over fifty miles distant to Catania, but 
when three-quarters of the route is accomplished, and 
we have descended from the sombre hills to the level 
plain of the valley of the Dittiano, exuberant grain- 



174 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

fields, ripe with early harvests, succeed to the desola- 
tion of the higher plateaus and mountain ridges, and 
once again the soul that is in love with what was beau- 
tiful in the past revels anew in the happy meadow-lands, 
golden fruits and various wild flowers of the present. 

Catania is at the very base of Mount ^tna, and 
is constructed on streams of lava that have overthrown 
its buildings and covered them up, again and again. 
Fourteen hundred years before Christ, when those 
were living in Palestine who could remember the 
greatest commander of his time, ''Joshua, son of Nun," 
Catania was a place of settlement. Then, as now, there 
were inhabitants of this earth who preferred a preca- 
rious habitation close by a volcano to a safe abode in 
some richer and less dangerous locality. The Greek 
city arose on the same spot seven hundred years later. 
It grew to be prosperous and great, but was never so 
great in influence as in the days just preceding the dis- 
covery of America, when the University, founded in 
1445, made it the literary metropolis of Sicily. It has 
to-day a population of a hundred and sixteen thousand 
souls, not one of whom may even guess whether the 
morrow's sun shall shine for them, as there stands 
above the city that which may overwhelm it in a mo- 
ment with the everlasting robes of fiery destruc- 
tion. To see those huge banks and streams of black 
lava on either side of the city, and under it also, to the 
depth of a hundred feet, and yEtna smoking above it, 
is to make one wonder at the audacity of man. For 
one knows that the old Greek city of Katane is a full 
hundred feet lower down than modern Catania. Yet 
on these lava beds above that old metroplis are busy 
thoroughfares, handsome shops and dwellings, a ca- 
thedral as a successor to a mightier one which was 
completely wrecked by two earthquakes, and the 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 175 

birthplace and tomb of the musician BelHni, whose 
four great operas are represented by allegorical fig- 
ures in the chief piazza. Outside the city the roads are 
cut through the lava strata, and every fifty years or so 
their beds are changed to suit the new levels made by 
fresh streams of the fiery, fluid outpourings, which 
succeed each outbreak of the pent-up monster. 

But let us press on to Taormina — happy, unique 
Taormina — which crowns those cliffs to the north, 
from which the Greeks of old had their best view of 
^tna, when they sat during the long afternoons lis- 
tening to the dreams of ^schylus, Sophocles and Eu- 
ripides. They sat with faces toward the actors upon the 
stage, but with eyes also on the " King of Volcanoes." 
The railway lands one at the foot of the cliffs, close by 
the murmuring waves. Carriages are in waiting to 
take the traveler up to the town by a series of ascend- 
ing curves over a road as hard and as smooth as mar- 
ble. Once at the summit, passing a monster hotel, 
closed because " out of season," I found myself com- 
fortably housed at a good inn, modelled in its gardens 
after those of the Italian villas which are so common 
on Lake Como, and at similar resorts in that land of 
vineyard and song. The ** Hotel Victoria " was clean 
and its proprietor most courteous. From the roof bal- 
cony a great prospect was before me, but I preferred 
to hasten to the Greek theatre on a higher slope, and 
there drink in the soft colorings and beautiful outlines 
of surrounding mountains and of the sea. 

That theatre is of superb proportions, massive 
construction, and so well preserved that one may 
study exactly the relations of all its parts to one anoth- 
er, and to actors and audience. Excavated twenty- 
three centuries ago out of a spur of Monte Tauro, it is 
likely to remain, as long as the world stands, a monu- 



176 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

ment to the love of the drama by art-loving and music- 
loving Greeks; a giant link between the Present and 
Future on the one hand, and the curious Past of Hel- 
lenic history on the other. From those well-preserved 
seats the view toward the south was exclusively of 
yEtna. From the promenade to the east of the exca- 
vated arena, the spectacle was of the Ionian sea and of 
the mainland of Italy. Three hundred and sixty feet 
across is that gigantic arena, and the orchestra is one 
hundred and thirty feet in width. The heavy plates of 
marble that covered the seats were stolen a few cen- 
turies ago, but the seats are there still, and seem to 
speak of men, known and unknown, whose lives cov- 
ered the whole gulf of time between Andromachus (of 
the Fourth Century, B. C), who was born in Taor- 
mina, and the Dukes of Santo Stefano, of the Middle 
Ages, up to whose time the theatre remained intact. 
All the details of the stage, or '' scena," can yet be 
viewed; only one other in the world of as early a date 
is in such remarkably preserved condition. The back of 
this scena is still a mighty portico, with entrances and 
exits for the players, with lofty columns and niches for 
the statues of gods and heroes. When the Romans 
came into possession of Sicily, they placed two grand 
galleries above and around the Greek enclosure, so 
that, not the original twenty thousand, but, forty thou- 
sand spectators could sit and view the actors. 

It is a most poetic spot. Not pathetic, like the 
Colosseum at Rome, for this enormous structure was 
not built by slaves for scenes of human butchery. It 
was built, instead, by brave, honorable men, who wor- 
shiped Beauty in all her various formis, and wor- 
shiped her in " spirit and in truth." So it is simply 
poetic, dreamy, inspiring. Those glorious land and 
ocean views I should not weary of looking upon, 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 17T 

though I had remained there many a day or week 
thereafter. To gaze once upon them is worth a jour- 
ney all the way from America to Sicily. What colors 
in sky, in forests, in golden grainfields, in orange and 
lemon groves, in olive orchards, in the ever-changing, 
emerald sea! How the shades of green and purple 
chased over the slightly undulating surface of that 
sweet and peaceful water! I loved to watch that wide 
expanse of ocean, which, as evening grew on, became 
more and more placid, just as if it had never swallowed 
up the barks and warships of ancient Greek, Roman 
and Carthaginian, when the deadly conflicts of those 
ancient days were at the high-tide of carnage. It 
was delightful also to look up at a higher village, Mo- 
lo, upon cliffs to the west, almost directly over my 
head, a thousand feet higher than where I stood, where 
one yet sees its old castle and fortifications, and that 
spiral roadway from them leading down to the eleva- 
tion whereon the theatre stands. Molo was the up- 
per citadel; the theatre was on the site of the more 
ancient fortification of Naxos. The one Acropolis 
stood guard over against the other, rearing its head 
so high above that I felt that the next step, could it be 
taken, would be up to the clouds themselves. 

But there were no clouds visible save one; that 
was gathered in folds close about the brow of ^tna. 
How I longed to see the actual summit of ^^tna ! Not 
since I had landed in Sicily had this Master of the 
island appeared, except once for an hour as a ghostly 
spectre, until this day, when, as I approached Catania 
and passed it, its high base, almost a hundred miles in 
circumference, had towered into view. Now it was 
almost uncovered, but its actual brow was enveloped 
in stratas of clouds, and there was no probability that 
they would pass away during my stay. What if I 



178 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

should leave Sicily and not really see Mount yEtna? 
It was a depressing and annoying thought. But how 
could one, unless he climbed up tO' its summit; a weary 
march, not altogether free of danger, requiring the 
best part of two days and great fatigue? Standing by 
the wonderful theatre I took out glasses and watched 
those clouds, but they gave no signs of giving up their 
guardianship. Yet now in a lucky moment some of 
them parted. Then I thought I saw the summit. In a 
twinkling they gathered together, and the few seconds 
of view was a tantalizing memory. What a gentle 
slope that mountain peak had upward! Almost a con- 
ical mass, an enormously elongated pyramid, there 
gathered about its base and far up toward its summit 
huge forests of beech and chestnut and walnut, pur- 
plish in hue, perhaps made so by the delicious haze 
in the atmosphere and the beams of the declining sun. 
There was something grand in my first look at the 
up-sweep of ^tna which moved me to admiration and 
stirred me to profoundest depths. I was so near it, and 
yet it seemed so far away. A majestic Alp, torn out 
from its proper northern moorings, planted by titanic 
forces amid the sweet-scented groves and smiling 
vine-clad plains of this semi-tropical island in the great 
South Sea! It was so lonely, so solemn; not wrapt 
as in winter with dazzling snows, but hooded as in 
summer with clouds of such inherent dignity. At my 
feet were wild flowers innumerable; God never made 
them more beautiful, save on the hillslopes of Galilee, 
Broom and heath, bugloss and orchids, fleur-de-lis 
and wild geranium, intermingled amid the stones and 
beside the paths of this ancient theatre. But all these, 
and all that sea of glass, and all those hillcrests 
overhead, seemed pigmies and likely to fade away, 



GIRGENTI AND TAORMINA 179 

while there stood the one sohtary giant, asleep; yet 
how awfully impressive in his sleep! 

Next morning I climbed again up to the top of our 
balcony on the hotel roof, and there, in air as clear as 
crystal, as '* soft as velvet," the top of ^tna stood 
out, an exalted monarch against the sky, a silhouette 
such as no gods of old could ever have carved ; serene, 
self-satisfied, in absolute peace with heaven and with 
earth. If even a whiff of smoke were there in its gi- 
gantic crater, it did not show above its " head sub- 
lime." But presently I saw a bit of curling vapor: 
surely the monster was smoking. Yet in such a pyg- 
mean sort of way; just as the dwarf volcano of Sulfe- 
taro near Posilippo steams — to please the visitor! It 
was such a wee bit of smoke for ^Etna! Such a harm- 
less eruption ! Surely he was asleep. Was he a priest 
of Baal, to whom one could " cry aloud, for either he 
is musing, or he has gone aside, or, peradventure, he 
sleepeth and must be awakened?" I do not know 
whether the giant mountain was musing or sleeping, 
but, asleep or awake, smoking or pretending to smoke, 
did he not seem to be a god who could make even 
devils shake and tremble, were he only stirred up to 
his profoundest depths? 



XI.— IN THE ^^ ETERNAL CITY.'' 

ONE CAN never feel far a second time the pecu- 
liar, indefinable thrill of strange emotions ex- 
perienced in a first approach to the portals of 
an ancient metropolis, Uke Syracuse, Athens, Jeru- 
salem, or Rome. This is especially true if he ex- 
pects to see not only the ancient hills and selfsame mu- 
nicipal walls, but the remains of the same palaces, tem- 
ples, forums, arches, columns, prisons, amphitheatres, 
tombs, public fountains and statues, which were daily 
before the eyes of those great men of the nation, whose 
deeds have stirred the world and intensely affected the 
march of civilization. First contact with such a city 
stirs the imagination and enkindles the enthusiasm to 
the utmost. The resultant white heat gives way later 
to the duller glow, albeit, in the case of Rome, its re- 
markable attractions draw with cords of perennial 
strength. 

I well remember my first approach to the Eternal 
City, over a quarter of a century ago. It was from 
the north, as one usually enters Rome. It was after 
rapturous days in Venice and similarly felicitous ones 
at Florence had prepared the mind for almost any- 
thing in the way of historical associations and archae- 
ological surprises. There was a strange hand beckon- 
ing onward as I passed old strongholds and cities, 
whose foundations were Pelasgiac and Etruscan, and 
all of them prehistoric. The monastery of Vallombro- 
sa; the home of Petrarch; the plain of Arezzo, where, 
perchance, the bones of the elephants from Carthage 



\ 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 181 

used by Hannibal in his wars are still dug up occasion- 
ally, and are called the remains of extinct mammoths; 
lovely Perugia, whose peerless location sixteen hundred 
feet above the valley is an epic poem ; the battle ground 
of Flaminius; and then the historic Sabine hills — how 
these scenes and others like them one by one trooped 
by as I was whirled on toward the goal of desire. I 
recall the fear lest after all there was no Rome. It 
might be a myth; or it might be that a cataclysm had 
swallowed it up, and it had become as much a lost loca- 
tion as Sodom and Gomorrah. Castelar had written of 
Venice : " I had such an idea of the frailty of this beau- 
tiful Venice, continually combating the winds and the 
waters, that I feared she would disappear before I was 
permitted to behold her, and bury herself in the sea- 
shell in which she was born." Ebcactly that feeling en- 
tered the mind about Rome. Others had seen her, but 
should I? 

However, while thus meditating, suddenly from 
the car window I was face to face with the single, dom- 
inating, almost sublime, spectacle of St. Peter's dome. 
It came up before me so suddenly, at a moment so un- 
expected, that it was as if a great orb of architecture 
had swung out into space in a second of time against 
the western sky. There, off to the right, against the 
background of a roseate sunset, this dark, marble 
throne stood suspended above the horizon. At first a 
tremendous globe; then it seemed to stand up like a 
tower of Babel, topped with semi-circular crown, and 
above it the Cross. Then, as darkness drew apace, 
and the crimsoned firmament became wholly blood- 
red, it appeared as an avenging Colossus; and then — 
sudden transposition — an Angel, not of Death but of 
Peace, with sword sheathed; a Sentinel guarding not 
Rome alone but the approaching Night. While I was 



182 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

gazing at it as a magnificent reality, it as suddenly dis- 
appeared, for hills came between us, and there were 
precipitous rocks and luxuriant Roman cane as high 
as the train windows. This vision as suddenly disap- 
peared, as the railway pierced the Aurelian walls of the 
Third Century A. D., ran alongside of the Baths of 
Diocletian, and halted in the heart of the strange, new 
city, known as Modern Rome. 

Rome has a peculiar fascination to all foreign peo- 
ples to-day, just as it had at the beginning of our Chris- 
tian era. That fascination never flags ; the interest en- 
gendered never wearies. Referring now to my last 
(an eighth) visit to the city once so delightful to Cae- 
sar and to Cicero, I found it just as attractive as at 
first. More so, indeed, because to learn to know 
Rome well is to begin to love it with a kind of death- 
less affection. There is something about the crum- 
bling ruins and newly excavated pavements, the grand 
old Colosseum and the dilapidated Forum, the crooked 
Via Sacra and the straight Via Appia, the numerous 
arches, the baths, in fact all that lie on and between the 
Seven Hills and on the surrounding Campagna, that 
allures, captivates and holds in permanent thrall. The 
more one reads of their history, the more one cherishes 
every odd bit of recovered marble and every ancient 
inscription. Yet that history was as cruel as it was 
splendid; those stones were as pagan as they are now 
pathetic. Why is it that there are charms in fallen 
greatness? We do not care for Lucifer as an evil pow- 
er, but we do cling with surprising tenacity to some of 
the magnificent arts with which he has endeavored to 
garnish the world ! 

If you want the best introduction possible to 
Rome, view it the first day from an eminence or two — 
the Pincian Hill, first; then the Janiculum. 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 183 

Let us stand, first, on the Pincian. It is the most 
northerly of the hills of Rome; not one of the ancient 
seven, and yet more ancient, perhaps, than either of 
the seven, because the uplift of the earliest geological 
epoch of this locality. It was covered with gardens in 
the days of the regal period, and so it is yet. Here and 
there are residences of descendants of Medician and 
other " barons " of the Middle Ages, who in vain es- 
sayed to follow the example of LucuUus in giving 
feasts to modern Ciceros and Pompeys. LucuUus's 
Pincian villa on this hill was one of the sights of Cae- 
sar's day. Now there are chiefly mimosa and shrubs, 
cypresses and pines, statues and bas-reliefs, and a 
charming driveway. It is where on an afternoon the 
band plays, parents and children clamber for an outing, 
and the rich ride to be seen of those who cannot go 
out except on foot. The Eternal City lies magnificent- 
ly at our feet, and, if the day be clear, the horizon does 
not stop until it touches the Mediterranean sea at 
Ostia. Two great round buildings stand up most prom- 
inent in the westerly line of vision. The one is the 
Castle of St. Angelo, once a tomb of six pagan em- 
perors. Its glories have departed, but its grand mas- 
siveness still attracts the interest of passers-by. The 
other is the Cathedral of St. Peter's, superb monument 
to the living King of Kings, the lordliest church in 
Christendom; " the grandest edifice ever built by man, 
painted against God's loveliest sky," Hawthorne once 
wrote, when viewing it from this very mount. Beside 
it are piled up the irregular, ugly, massive buildings 
known as the Vatican, wherein sits the ecclesiastical 
monarch whose subjects are in the ends of the earth. 
To the left of St. Peter's is the Janiculum Hill, on 
which we shall stand next. Neither was this one of 
the Seven, but, like the Pincian, it was an afternoon 



184 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

playground, after it served its purposes as the mythical 
home of Janus, the sun-god, and after Numa, the 
first Sabine king of Rome, " like the darlings of the 
gods in the golden age, fell asleep, full of days," and 
was buried there with the books of his sacred ordi- 
nances in a separate tomb. At the foot of the hill 
Julius Caesar had his gardens, but I doubt if he ever 
had time to enjoy many exquisite sunsets from their 
western slopes. He was too busy with his conquests 
and " Commentaries " to enjoy himself in such a man- 
ner. The convent of St. Onofrio, to which the gentle 
Tasso came to die, is almost the only relic to be seen 
upon the top of the hill, but there is one of the finest 
drives upon it ever made in any city, and an equestrian 
monument to Garibaldi, which is as great a work of 
art as he was a leader. You see it as a silhouette 
against the horizon. The trained eye will take in on 
the nearer side of the Tiber the buildings which form 
the Ghetto, or Jews quarter. The ancestors of these 
Jews were brought to that precise spot as slaves by 
Pompey the Great, when he captured Jerusalem and 
dared to penetrate into the Holy of Holies. It is, to- 
day, the only thoroughly disagreeable place in Rome. 
On the right of this is the Farnese Palace, built of trav- 
ertine quarried from the Colosseum and long the res- 
idence of the exiled Bourbon kings. That church, a 
little nearer, S. Andrea della Valle, was on the site 
of Pompey's Theatre, where great Caesar lost his life 
by those cowardly assassins. Nearer still rises the 
Pantheon, the site of the temple of all the gods in the 
days of Augustus Caesar, later a Temple of Justice in 
Hadrian's time, the oldest unruined building in the 
city, the burial place of Raphael, Victor Emmanuel 
and King Humbert, the grandest type of an antique 
temple — simple, solemn, audacious, splendid. The. 




Augustus Ccesar, in Boyhood. 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 185 

column of Marcus Aurelius stands there in the Piazza 
Colonna, tall and majestic, where it has stood and de- 
fied the revolutions and struggles of full seventeen 
hundred years. Down at our feet is the Porta del Pop- 
olo, the north gate of Rome, through which monks, 
saints, bishops, priests, statesmen, kings and victo- 
rious armies have gone out toward Gaul and the great 
north country, when Rome was pushing her con- 
quests and, later, her religion toward France and 
England and the countries of the Huns and Visigoths. 
Until the iron horse came to the city all travelers from 
the north entered through that gate. And can you not 
now almost see Luther there, just within the arch, be- 
fofe the obelisk which nearly marks the site of Nero's 
tomb, crying out as he bowed to the ground : " I sa- 
lute thee, O holy Rome; Rome, venerable through the 
blood and the tombs of the martyrs!" and then, on a 
later day, leaving through that same portal, a changed 
man because of the steps of that sacred staircase in the 
Passionist Monks' convent, where he had arisen from 
his knees to cry: "The just shall live by faith!" His 
presence at that gate marked the gray dawn of the 
Reformation. That tall obelisk at our feet was at Heli- 
opolis thirteen hundred years before the birth of Christ. 
Augustus Caesar brought it to the Circus Maximus 
ten years before the star stood over Bethlehem. There 
it stands, like its companion at On, erect, unchanged 
and unchangeable, solemnly silent through all these 
ages, but witness to most remarkable transformations 
in nations, peoples, customs and religions. The four 
fountains at its base laugh in the sunshine and play 
in the darkness, but the old monolith above them 
shows no sign of weariness, no impatience ; in extreme 
heat or shivering cold it exhibits a repose alike impen- 
etrable and everlasting. 

12 



186 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

But we must rest a moment. The eye and soul may 
weary. Let us drive across to that Janiculum Hill 
and, on the way, watch the peoples and their homes, 
and prepare for another stretch of the vision and the 
imagination. 

A half-hour it takes, and we are rested. Now stand 
on the open space near the convent of St. Onofrio and 
see away off to the left the Pincian Hill, where we 
have just stood. x\nd see now, what we could not view 
then, all the Seven Hills of ancient Rome. Some of 
them seem almost joined together. Some are so 
crowded with buildings that the demarcation between 
hill and ancient valley is scarcely perceptible. But 
there they are : the Quirinal, Viminal, Esquiline, Coe- 
lian, Palatine, Aventine, Capitoline. Really the city 
of to-day is upon ten hills, for the Pincian, Janiculum 
and Mons Vaticanus are included within what is the 
modern metropolis. We see now many things we did 
not discern from the Pincian, but only upon on^e may 
we linger for more than a moment. It is that *niracle 
of slave labor, that mausoleum of barbarity and feroci- 
ty, that monument to kingly power and to martyrs, 
known wherever the history of the empire has been 
read, or the " faith once delivered to the saints " has 
been proclaimed — the Colosseum. The after '\oon is 
the best time to see it, for it is just far enough away, as 
the sun shines upon its reddish travertine, to appear 
to be, as it is, in the silent repose of death rather than 
in the exultation of conquest. It has had its day: 
blessed be God for that. It gave crowns to the saints 
when it made widows and orphans of the best families 
within the walls of the city of the Caesars, and in that 
way it effected conquests by which the slain were the 
victors. Ruined, and yet grandest of all things in de- 
cay. It looks as if Nature in one of her upheavals had 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 187 

tossed it there in harmony of arches, in poetry of seats 
and thrones, in rhythms of stone and marble; its daily 
song one of sorrow, its evening canticle a hymn of 
death. Strange juxtaposition — the sin that was and 
the beauty that is; the horrid, iniquitous history of the 
Past and the sunshine and beauty of the Present. We 
look, but we do not realize what all that heaped-up, 
ruinous travertine means in the history of Rome and 
of the world. But there is so much more to see from 
this vantage ground than those rose-colored walls of 
the Vespasian amphitheatre. There is the Capitoline, 
with its old associations and its present masterpieces of 
Greek art; the Palatine, with its cypress trees and the 
ruins of the palaces of the emperors; the Quirinal, 
crowned with the more modern Palace of the King of 
Italy; the round Mausoleum of Augustus Caesar; the 
Basilica of St. John Lateran; the Column of Trajan; 
and scores of other antique and recent churches, pal- 
aces and buildings of all descriptions; a vast city, old 
and new, creeping up over the hills, crouching close to- 
gether in the valleys ; a mighty city, still pulsating with 
life, growing as if it had a fresh impulse toward, and a 
rebaptism into, its ancient name of " The Eternal City." 
Jerusalem and Athens have scarcely a half-score each 
of important memorials of their glory, but Rome is 
crowded with her venerable relics, and, while they also 
are growing again slowly into large cities, the " Mis- 
tress of the World " is overleaping its Middle Age bar- 
riers in every direction, and from such a height as this 
presents a goodly and a glorious spectacle. 

Which leads me to say that whenever I revisit 
Rome I am more and more interested in two promi- 
nent facts that are always presenting themselves with 
ever-increasing force. The first is, the tremendous 
jumps forward which Rome has made as a modern 



188 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

metropolis. It is more observable than any other one 
thing. Noble private dwellings of granite, well-paved 
and perfectly clean streets, a municipal government 
and police second to none elsewhere, and universal 
evidences of thrift, came in soon after the ingress of 
Italian unity and the egress of Papal sovereignty, and 
they came to stay. It is wonderful progress, and its 
culmination is still in the future. I look upon Rome as 
unequalled in its future outlook by any city within 
Catholic dominions. The second is, the new discover- 
ies being made, every year, in the Forum Romanum. 
The houses of the Vestal Virgins, the Regia of Caesar 
(i. e., Julius Caesar's public and official, and, it would 
seem, his private residence), the site and surroundings 
of the Comitium of the Senate, the Arch of Peace of 
Augustus Caesar, the equestrian statue of Domitian, 
the Springs of Juturna, a prehistoric necropolis, the 
chasm into which the brave Marcus Curtius made his 
leap on horseback B. C. 362 to placate the gods, and 
similar spots around which controversy so long cen- 
tred, are now not only fully identified and thrown open 
to public inspection, but adjoining churches and dwell- 
ings contiguous to the Forum have been purchased 
by private benefaction and their sites are being exca- 
vated ; and so the whole area of this ancient meeting- 
place of the people is soon to be brought to light. 

This Forum, the very heart of old Rome, so palpi- 
tating with interest, is too vast a subject to touch even 
lightly. How I always enjoy an afternoon in that un- 
covered space of ground, scarcely larger in size than 
three or four modern city blocks, yet the focus of 
everything stirring in Roman history ! That excellent 
lecturer. Professor Reynaud, does his best to bring 
back to life the very people who thronged there day 
after day during the centuries when it was the grand- 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 189 

est meeting-spot on earth. If one thing here more 
than another may be suggested as most attractive, 
perhaps it is the ancient Rostra, where the orations of 
Cicero against Catahne andVerres,the best speeches of 
JuHus Caesar, himself no mean orator before he took 
the field as general, and the palliating address to the 
people and assassins of Caesar by Marc Antony, de- 
livered over Caesar's dead body, were pronounced. 
Each great Roman pleader and orator — Cato, Caesar, 
Hortensius, Cicero — seems to stand there pleading 
some great cause before the jury of the Roman Senate 
or the Roman people. There, in front of the Rostra, 
are the holes in which were fastened the beaks of the 
vessels captured in victorious naval combats, an in- 
spiration to valor and to patriotism. Can one not still 
hear on that platform the silvery cadences, the round 
periods, the poHshed invectives of that master of all 
orators, as he calls to the bar the Praetor of Sicily and 
impeaches him in words memorable through all the 
ages ! He had produced the proofs and now comes the 
climax. Hearken to him : " O name of Liberty, sweet 
to our ears ! O rights of citizenship in which we glory ! 
O laws of Porcius and Sempronius ! O privilege of the 
tribune, long and sorely regretted, and at last restored 
to the people of Rome! Has it all come to this, that a 
Roman citizen in a province of the Roman people, in a 
federal town, is to be bound and beaten with rods in 
the Forum, by a man who only holds those rods and 
axes — those awful emblems — by the grace of the same 
people of Rome!" Who can wonder that Verres was 
dumb before such language and ignominiously fled 
from his accuser. But alas, alas! Against that same 
rostrum Antony nailed the dead head and hand of 
this one greatest orator of the ages, while a wicked 
queen spat in his still face and pierced his inanimate 



190 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tongue with a pin she had worn in her hair. It was the 
irony of fate, and Rome was never so great afterward. 
The downfall of Cicero marked the beginning of the 
destruction of the best forces that were in the empire, 
the best wealth in the possession of the people. 

I try never to omit, when in Rome, to see in its 
present position in the chamber of the King's Cabinet 
of Advisers in the Spada Palace the colossal statue of 
Pompey the Great: 

"And thou, dread statue! yet existent in 

The austerest form of naked majesty; 
Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, 

At thy bathed base the bloody Caesar lie. 
Folding his robes in dying dignity." 

Few Statues in Rome are so well identified, for it was 
found, when search was expressly made for it, just in 
the spot where the historian Suetonius said it stood 
when Augustus had it removed from *' Pompey's Sen- 
ate House," after the conspirators had there stabbed 
Julius Caesar to the death. The populace were fran- 
tic with grief that the greatest chieftain of his time had 
been cut down in the plenitude of his power; so they 
burned down the Pompeian Curia, but the statue was 
unharmed and Augustus removed it to the spot where 
it came to light in 1553. It is a grand work. Roman 
sternness is enthroned on every line of the face. The 
right hand, extended outward, gives the figure a most 
commanding air, and the ball — the round world, as it 
is supposed to be; and who shall henceforth say that 
the ancients did not know the world was round? — in 
the left hand, typifies the extent of his conquests. As 
a relic of the most tragic scene in the history of the 
Eternal City prior to the days of the martyrdom of 
the Christians, it is of priceless interest. 

Neither do I ever miss the sitting figure of Moses, 



IN THE ''ETERNAL CITY" 191 

the lawgiver, the masterpiece of Michael Angelo, in 
the Church of S. Pietro in Vincoli, which as a Chris- 
tian church is believed to date back to 109 A. D. Pope 
Julius II., as if his remarkable deeds might not give 
him enough glory after death, sought further immor- 
tality in his tomb, and Angelo began to design that 
monument during the Pope's life on a scale almost 
matchless for its hugeness. Moses was to have been 
one of forty statues, of which four were completed. 
And here it stands, as much an incarnation of the mas- 
ter sculptor as a transcendent figure of the Hebrew 
lawgiver. Its long, flowing beard to the waist, its 
horned head and deep-set eyes, its awful solemnity and 
noble dignity, cannot fail to impress any lover of great 
art. Full of strength and power, of sternness and 
sadness, its very contrariety of expressions, as one 
gazes at it, now from this side and now from that, stirs 
up the deepest feelings in one's nature. 

So, too, I like to examine again and again those 
early Fourth Century mosaics in the Church of S. Pu- 
denziana, representing Christ with his apostles and the 
reputed daughters of Pudens — Praxedis and Puden- 
ziana. A comparison of these with the Ninth and 
Eleventh Century mosaics in other churches in the 
city will prove highly instructive, to say the least. 
That Christian artists, so early as within three hun- 
dred years after the scene on Calvary, constructed such 
mosaics is at once a wonder and an inspiration to faith. 
These men, who lived so near to the times when the 
lives of the martyrs were being sown as seed for the 
Church, had the most serious conceptions of " The 
Face of the Christ," but those conceptions were not of 
the horrible, nor of the feminine ; they were of the ten- 
der and sweet, the benevolent and calm. 

The Church of S. Clement, whose basilican form is 



192 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the most ancient and best preserved in Rome, with its 
three different edifices one above the other; with its 
first church buih in the Fourth Century on walls of 
Republican times, and with early frescoes running over 
a period of seven centuries, should on no account be 
passed by. Whether or not the active fellow-laborer 
of Paul, Saint Clement, and the faithful Pudens, in 
whose house the Apostle Peter may have been enter- 
tained, lived on the sites where these two last men- 
tioned churches are standing, or not, the interiors are 
among the most quaint and solemn in Rome. 

But the great church of all, of the three hundred 
and sixty-five more or less in Rome, is and always will 
be St. Peter's. Say what one will of the superior gran- 
deur in this or that respect of other cathedrals, there is 
a superb finish and solid wealth of marble in St. Pe- 
ter's, which are astounding. The Renaissance never 
gave to the world a more gorgeous temple than this of 
the Holy See. One enters it each time with feelings 
of mere babyhood. Surely it was intended only for 
worship by giants, or by beings of untold wealth. It 
is a palace, rather than a cathedral. Yet there are al- 
ways to be seen within, kissing the toe of St. Peter and 
kneeling before the High Altar, some of the humblest 
peasants of the Valley of the Tiber. Whatever else 
Rome does or does not do, she interposes no barrier to 
the worship of God and the Virgin to the plainest la- 
borer, or the most illiterate beggar. Once I had the 
unexpected felicity of hearing sung, at the vesper hour 
of half-past five, the special Te Deum. to express the 
gratitude of the Catholic world for the recovery of 
Pope Leo XHI. from a dangerous surgical operation. 
I stood up three-quarters of an hour in rather painful 
anxiety, because of the crush, before the music began, 
but when it came it stirred me through and through 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 193 

with its solemn sweetness and its heavenly expressive- 
ness. I saw an audience of at least twenty-five thou- 
sand gathered in this colossal structure. Everyone 
stood, for there are no seats. There were men, wo- 
men, children, and even dogs in the waiting assembly, 
and every person was sympathetic, reverential. When, 
after the first outburst of organ symphony and 
the rising and falling cadences of the boy choir, 
the one clear, high note of the leading soprano — a eun- 
uch, with voice closely approximating the feminine — 
came upon the ear, I knew at once this was what I 
had been waiting for. It was the one flash of the 
lightning that revealed all the spirits of the vast 
chasm of St. Peter's ; the one star of the night which 
was the Sirius of groups of suns. Mere choral strength 
is grand, if the subject is majestic and the inevitable 
dissonances are overridden by a Niagara of sweet con- 
cords ; but in a vast cathedral like Westminster, like 
York, like Notre Dame, like St. Peter's, when the 
storm of sound is past, and the one clearer, higher and 
sweeter angelic note is struck by the solitary singer, 
the effect is indescribable. You then feel, as if with ac- 
tual touch, the hush of the assembly and — diviner still 
— ^the hush of your own soul. The '' Te Deum " may 
have been for the Pope, but it ministered wholly to 
the spiritual in my own inner consciousness. I have 
heard a more enrapturing voice in the stillness of 
Westminster Abbey, but I never was so impressed 
with the power of the human singer to calm a multitude 
of men and women as when this high-keyed euphony 
penetrated to and through the thousands upon thou- 
sands congregated in St. Peter's. One other time 
during the service the effect was equally marked. It 
was when the whole audience joined in singing the re- 
sponses to the prayer of praise. Not a voice seemed 



194 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

to be forgetful of the words or of the moment for their 
use, and the rise and fall of those sonorous Latin 
sentences of song were like the musical waters on the 
shores of a great sea. 

At another time the reading of the Papal bull by 
one of the Italian cardinals was one of the surprises I 
had in store. It was in 1899. The next year (1900) 
was to be the Jubilee Year and Leo XIIL had pre- 
pared in advance the usual bull to be read to the peo- 
ple, proclaiming the fact. A bull is first read at St. 
Peter's, and the same afternoon it is similarly pro- 
claimed in the vestibules of various other basilicas of 
the city. I happened in upon this day when a bull had 
been issued for the first time in a quarter of a century, 
and the great bronze doors of St. Peter's were opened, 
and the public passed through them. There was 
first High Mass, as it was Ascension Day and a 
holiday. This occurred about nine o'clock in the 
morning. At eleven o'clock there was a stirring of 
feet toward the vestibule, where several rows of seats 
had been placed in front of the central bronze doors 
for the accommodation of the various priests of the 
Cathedral. A number of cardinals appeared, and one 
of them stood up on a platform before a reading desk 
and read the bull from a red morocco-bound copy. 
It contained thirteen engrossed pages, but two or 
three of them were skipped in the reading, which oc- 
cupied full twenty minutes. Before the reading, the 
bells of St. Peter's rang out together, and again at its 
close. The audience independent of the priests num- 
bered, perhaps, three or four hundred — all who could 
get within sound of the reader's voice. One clear 
*' Viva Leo ! " or something like it, was heard from the 
lips of one of the audience at the conclusion of the 
reading, but there were no other demonstrations. It 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 195 

was then, when all was finished and the robed priests 
returned into the Cathedral through the bronze doors, 
that I had the opportunity to walk through them. 

Multitudinous are the things to be seen in this old, 
old city, and a month is none too long for a single vis- 
it, if one desires to obtain, either for a first time or a 
tenth time, a real insight into the marvels of historic 
associations that crowd into every spot where the im- 
perial eagle once had sway. I cannot linger on them 
further, for books and books have been written about, 
them, and will be, while men travel and the world 
swings on its course. Only tw^o great memorials more, 
both outside of the city walls, must claim attention in 
this chapter; for the rest let the reader take up the 
works of Crawford, Story, Dennie or Hare, and in them 
he will catch the marvelous meaning and glamour of 
the Roman city as it is to be viewed to-day. 

It is a little beyond the ordinary avenues of the 
hurried sightseer to turn from the old historic paths 
to a plain and unconsecrated cemetery outside the an- 
cient walls, to find who might be buried there. It is 
strangely in contrast with the scene just beyond the 
high stone fence that separates this lonely and lovely 
spot from one of the ancient arterial roads leading into 
Rome. Along that way had traveled all who visited 
the capital from the port of Ostia, and it was a way 
which led out to the finest basiHca outside of Rome. 
The spot is close beside the Pyramid of Caius Cestius, 
which was a tomb, and is as intact now as it was be- 
fore the birth of Christ — the only pyramid in Italy. 
That pyramid guards the beautiful and quiet English, 
or Protestant, cemetery as a sentinel of the Caesars. 
Do you remember how in Shelley's "Adonais" is de- 
scribed this spot: 



196 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

"A slope of green access 
Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead, 
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread." 

Is it any wonder that on this very slope Hes Shelley's 
buried heart ? " Cor Cordium," is the record, " 8 July, 
1822. 

" 'Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea change 
Into something rich and strange.' " 

The grave of John Keats is within sight, in an adjoin- 
ing plot of ground. The two poet-friends should have 
been lain side by side. Keats* death-date is February 
24, 1 82 1, and the words engraved by his desire upon his 
tomb are these : " Here lies one whose name was writ 
in water." The sculptors Gibson and Story, a co-author 
of " Guesses at Truth," and John Addison Symonds, 
are each to be found resting here under the cypress 
trees and the violets. A shady, solemn, quiet, beauti- 
ful spot it is, its surroundings breathing the air of the 
classic ages that have preceded. 

Passing out of Rome by another way, one enters 
upon the ancient Via Appia. It should be in or after 
midafternoon, as the breeze will then be springing up, 
and the high west walls along the way will cast cool 
shadows over the road. That was the very hour, in fact, 
when of old the crowds went forth on the same road 
on Roman holidays. Then they left the Colosseum, 
forsook the many temples, deserted the Circus Max- 
imus and the Forum, and idly mused at the tombs of 
their dead friends, as they proceeded toward the great 
Baths of Caracalla. On this Via Appia we press the 
very stones which a greater than an Emperor once 
trod, the Apostle Paul, with his associated band of 
faithful friends, whose teachings one day were to over- 
turn the whole earth. That Via Appia, after the Via 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 197 

Capitolinus and the Via Sacra, was the most sacred 
way to the Romans in all their dominions, for along it 
their household dead were buried. And it was the 
longest straight road, the best also, in the world. Its 
paving stones of lava blocks are still in situ, though 
almost all its mausoleums have been pulled down and 
destroyed, while the human ashes within have gone 
to mix wath the gray, warm earth, out of which now 
blossom the daisies and bloom the corn. 

No matter from whence the Via Appia first started, 
we are sure we are upon it as we pass by the site of 
the old Porta Capena— formerly the great door which 
led out of Rome to the south, now not even a ruin — 
and discern before us that straight road leading on and 
on and up, over the Alban hills and out of sight. When 
blind old Appius Claudius, Censor of Rome 312 B. C, 
laid out this road a hundred and twenty-five miles in 
length, and two chariots wide, he founded what be- 
came later one of the mightiest forces of Roman pow- 
er and splendor. When the Caesars took it on to Brun- 
dusium, the seaport of Eastern Italy, three hundred 
miles away, it was in straightness, length and general 
beauty the most renowned road of the world, and was 
entitled to its early honorable name of " Regina Via- 
rum" (the Queen of Ways). It still stands there, 
straight as an arrow, two carriages wide, and, in places 
where men have taken the trouble to uncover it, with 
its original pavement of lava blocks intact. You could 
not mistake it for any other way out of Rome if you 
wished. Whence did those lava blocks come? Or, 
when not lava, where were the stones quarried? The 
adjoining country has no lava beds and no quarries 
yielding such stone. Wonderful engineers those old 
Romans ; none like them before or since. 

Yet here are but few of the monuments and 



198 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

mausoleums of which we read in Horace and Ovid, 
Martial and Cicero. Those tombs, with marble en- 
casement and deep-cut inscriptions, helped to beautify 
the fashionable drive out of the Eternal City, and also 
to glorify the revered dead. One can see, now, walk- 
ing over those very stones, the weary prisoner who 
had appealed to Caesar in his defence, and whose long 
journey was about to terminate. How his eye took 
in the long reach of monuments which lined the road- 
way, white and shining in the sun; how he read the 
more prominent inscriptions, the names unfamiliar to 
his ears, but with panegyrics such as Roman citizens 
had used even in ancient Tarsus; and how he saw in 
those inscriptions not one word referring to God, or 
to Immortality! As Rome has thrilled us, so a hun- 
dred times more the Rome of the Caesars must have 
thrilled him. It was the world's capital and in the 
height of its glory. 

As we go pursuing our way, we soon discern to 
the right those tremendous ruins known as the Baths 
of Caracalla. Massive, picturesque, suggestive. Near- 
by, to the left, various little churches ; churches named 
after the martyrs; churches named after John the 
Evangelist and Peter, whose lives are supposed to 
have been somehow connected with scenes which were 
transacted on those very spots. Now the Tomb of 
the Scipios, and chief among them the renowned Afri- 
canus, who conquered Hannibal. Here is the Arch of 
Drusus, who died in his campaign on the Rhine. We 
are now by the entrance to the Catacombs through the 
Church of St. Sebastian! What a world of thought 
surges within as we think of what those caverns of 
the dead were in the time of the living! Off to the east 
the long reach of ruins of the Circus Maxentius. Next 
the beautiful and immense tomb of Csecilia Metella, 



ssssaSBSaSBm 



IN THE "ETERNAL CITY" 199 

" the stern round tower of other days," visible for 
miles in the distance. Happy the wife of Crassus, so 
rich in life as to deserve this splendid monument 
after death. The beauty of the Via Appia is distinctly 
increasing. We emerge from behind stone walls lin- 
ing the roadway, and there are on either hand unin- 
terrupted views of the Campagna. All the way to the 
Sabine and Alban mountains stretches out the Latin 
plain, of greensward mostly, and crossing it from the 
mountain springs the long and strikingly artistic Clau- 
dian Aqueduct. 

Let us stop here. The fresh air invites rest. It is 
a mournful place if one's thoughts aje given over to 
sympathy for old ruins, but a bright and eloquent 
abode if one mingles wath his reflections the breath 
of the fresh atmosphere which surrounds the New 
Rome and the New Italy, of which Emmanuel and 
Garibaldi were the fathers. 



XII.— THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS. 

THERE MAY have been men braver of heart 
than St. Francis of Assisi; more conscien- 
tious in their humility, more devoted to acts of 
mercy, more thoroughly natural in simplicity, 
more whole-hearted in an obedience to the inward 
Voice; but, if so, the records of earth do not disclose 
them. We may not penetrate into the ledgers of heav- 
en, but, so far as the books of this world go, one of the 
brightest names on their pages is that of the model 
ascetic, Francis Bernardone. Rich man's son, trouba- 
dour, fashionable youth, folly-clothed knight, " insti- 
gator of evil," lover of worthless companions, until 
he passed his twenty-fifth birthday ; then, in a moment, 
in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, like Paul on his 
way to Damascus, he saw his Lord athwart his path- 
way and was changed from sinner to saint. It took a 
severe illness to bring his Divine Leader before him, 
face to face, but, when he once saw the indescribable 
light of that marvelous countenance, his regard for 
the possessions of wealth instantaneously melted away, 
his own gay apparel turned into a single raiment and 
a cowl, and his soul began slowly, but surely, to shine 
forth as a new star in the firmament. As a feaster, 
idler, singer, or soldier — and in his earlier years he 
was all of these — he would never have been heard of 
outside of Assisi. As a rescuer of men from the bond- 
age of iniquity, a pattern of unselfishness, the founder 
of an order which revolutionized the religious irre- 
ligiousness of Southern Europe, he became the most 







'— -=^-»ft^| 







Statue of St. Francis^ Assist. 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 201 

glittering light in the night of the darkest period of 
the mediaeval ages. With his spouse " Poverty," he 
set an example for kings! For over seven hundred 
years the memory of St. Francis has been kept green 
by men who have tried to walk as he walked, though 
failing to attain to his humility or saintliness ; and by 
women also, who, at the merest mention of his name, 
have shed tears and counted themselves happy to draw 
near to his hallowed tomb. 

To imderstand St. Francis one must visit Assisi. 
To understand Assisi one must know fully the life and 
labors of St. Francis. The two are inseparable. Beau- 
tiful in situation, Assisi would stand little show of be- 
ing honored by travelers in comparison with its once- 
hated, stronger and more enticing neighbor, Perugia, 
except for the fact that St. Francis gave to the plainer 
town the renown that will never desert it ** while grass 
grows and water runs." Related so closely to, domi- 
nated and transfigured so gloriously by, the life of 
that wonderful character, who was too great to be 
counted a mere monk and too humble to take the 
name of bishop, Assisi is, to-day, one of the most inter- 
esting religious centres of Italy, and none visit it 
save in reverence and affection. In art it has little, 
save in one convent church, to arrest the attention; 
yet what are paintings or statuary when the actual life 
of a real, heroic saint gives forth such supernatural 
color and glow ? Even Perugians go up to Assisi. So 
the Romans of Cicero's day went up to Athens, not 
that Rome was less great in power and wealth, but 
that it had no gods like those in and around the Acrop- 
olis ! 

It is a four-hours' railway ride from Rome to As- 
sisi, in the summer a hot but yet an attractive journey. 
It goes by Borghetta, Narni, Terni, Spoleto and Folig- 

13 



202 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

no, each spot having much to interest, aside from the 
natural beauties of their localities. At the beginning 
the railway follows the valley of the Tiber until be- 
yond Borghetta, where it parts company with it, and 
pursues its way a while by the river Nera, past Narni 
(where the Emperor Nero was born) to Terni, which 
claims to have given birth to the historian, Tacitus. It 
is only four miles from Terni to where may be seen 
the Marmore cascades, formed from the waters of the 
Velino valley and among the most entrancing falls 
in Europe. Of them Byron says in a bit of his immor- 
tal " Childe Harold," fourth canto: 

"The roar of waters !— from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave- worn precipice; 
The fall of waters! rapid as the light 
The flashing mass foams, shaking the abyss; 
The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss 
And boil in endless torture; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set." 

Spoleto has nearly eighty thousand people. Illus- 
trious in the days when Hannibal found it invincible to 
an assault (B. C. 217), Spoleto is most famous now for 
having the tomb and the masterpiece of the painter 
Era Eilippo Lippi. Michael Angelo's visit there in 
1556 was thus recorded in one of his letters: " I have 
just been visiting, with no small fatigue and expense, 
but with great pleasure, the hermitage of the moun- 
tain of Spoleto. I have scarcely brought the half of 
myself to Rome, because one only finds true liberty, 
peace and happiness amid such scenes." Spoleto is in 
one respect like Assisi; it is on a hillside, not crest, and 
above it on the summit stands a castle. Foligno comes 
next, with little more than a tenth of the population 
of Spoleto, but it was an important station on the 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 208 

Flaminian way in Roman times and is yet of commer- 
cial and especially of military importance. For two 
and a-half centuries it contained one of the greatest 
works of Raphael, the Madonna del Foligno, and this 
of itself makes one wish to see the Convent of St. An- 
na, which was long honored by the presence of this 
masterpiece. 

On arriving at the railway station at Assisi, in the 
valley, the walled town seems to be rather distant, and, 
in fact, by the windings of the road it is at least two 
miles or more away. Its great double church and 
monastery of San Francisco stands up and out against 
the sky like an impregnable citadel, at the extreme end 
of the city. Far above it on Mount Sebastio is the cas- 
tle, not defiant now as formerly, because shorn of its 
strength, but well-preserved in its ruin and full of Mid- 
dle Age history. Shall we go directly up the hill and 
penetrate into the compactly built city, now of less than 
four thousand people ? It had probably five times that 
number in the Twelfth Century, when in its glory. Or 
shall we first turn aside to see the magnificent struc- 
ture in the valley, built over the little Portiuncula 
chapel, where St. Francis first started his brotherhood ; 
where he cut oflf the fair locks of Santa Chiara, gave 
her the brown habit and the black veil which separated 
her from the world, and " set in order " her life, des- 
tined to sweeten all Umbria for years after; the spot 
where he died, in absolute poverty, while in the full 
flood-tide of his fame, at the early age of forty-four. 
Perhaps it is well to follow the years of St. Francis 
backwards; go first up the hill and spy out the gran- 
deur of his tomb in the monastery-church; visit the 
place of his labors at the Convent of San Damiano on 
the southern hill-slope ; then go to the humble Portiun- 
cula in the valley, within the massive structure of the 



204 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

church of St. Mary of the Angels, and there muse over 
the little chapel, which he loved first and loved last 
with such unspeakable devotion. 

Say what one will of the inspiring genius of St. 
Francis, he left off his ministry where he began it, in 
the humblest possible surroundings. If the great white 
convent and church now above his bones in Assisi 
overtop in situation the gorgeous but vacant valley 
Cathedral that surrounds and hides from the sunshine 
the little bit of a chapel where he felt nearest to heav- 
en, these were not of his doings. He desired no mar- 
ble mausoleum, no canonization, no pretentious basil- 
ica, but received all these after his death, in spite of 
his known wishes, because of the devotion of nearly the 
whole world to his superabounding goodness. Few 
men created so much enthusiasm in life, and fewer 
still after death, as this epoch-maker in Chris- 
tian living and Christian thinking. Had his wishes 
been followed, Assisi would to-day be without the 
building which is- its pride, and the valley below it 
would not have a temple, whose elegance testifies to 
the riches that so easily flow into churches in Italy 
from the innumerable gifts of both wealthy and poor. 

I do not know of anything prettier than the view 
of San Francisco as one ascends the Subasian hill. It 
is a monastery, within which is a double church, an 
upper and a lower. Above the church lifts a huge, 
square tower. But it is the colonnaded monastery it- 
self which gives chief grandeur to the whole fore- 
ground of Assisi. Its front reminds one of the Clau- 
dian Aqueduct on the Via Appia, but it is more mas- 
sive and more picturesque. Its irregular base-lines 
just fit in with the indentations of the hillside. In its 
western portion an upper tier of arches is superim- 
posed upon a lower. It is not white, as monasteries so 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 205 

often are, nor red, like the brick of which it is in part 
composed, but a warm orange hue, or " flesh-color," 
in some hours of the day, and at all hours it is mel- 
low, tender, inviting, lovable. When it first came into 
my vision it looked like a sturdy giant, asleep; 
strong as a rugged Trojan, but asleep. Uninhabited 
save by a few monks, who are permitted to remain 
there until they die, it is now a solitary mausoleum 
to its saint. Yet in its day— and that day was one of 
six long centuries — what monastic history was enacted 
within its walls! Then suppressed as an ecclesiastical 
domicile and power, it became a relic; a gloriously 
beautiful, but dead relic, resting on its well-earned 
laurels, as quiet and self-contained as the Pyramids. 
Immense in its frontage to the plain, it swings its cir- 
cling walls over against the valley with an air of majes- 
ty that commands the august reverence of even the 
heartless as a splendid memorial to St. Francis 
and his fellows, whose lives were wholly devoted to 
seeking out the lowest and most outcast of earth and 
making of them men. It is not known who was the ar- 
chitect of vSan Francisco, but he deserves a monument 
higher than the Eiffel Tower, for his work, from a mere- 
ly architectural point of view, was as unique and inter- 
esting as any ruined or unruined building in the 
whole history of mediaeval Italy. We do know this, 
that to " Elias, Brother," as he was called in his day, 
the survivor of St. Francis and real master of the or- 
der after the saint passed away, we are indebted for 
this immense memorial to the gentler St. Francis. The 
monument was strongly in contrast to the humble 
spirit of the one to whose memory it was erected, but 
what Assisi would have missed if Elias had not per- 
severed and brought to a conclusion his ambitious 
end! Now all day long " the varied group of church, 



206 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

arcaded convent and terraced gardens is showing its 
beauty to the sun. In every Hght it is beautiful. . . . 
When the winter mists of early morning wrap round 
it like a mantle, or the stars form crowns above its 
roof and bell-tower, there is always some new loveli- 
ness which thrills us, some fresh note of color not 
noticed there before, making us again and again feel 
grateful that Elias forgot or ignored the teaching of 
his master." 

The hotel at which one naturally seeks quarter is 
the *' Subasio," kept by Signor Rossi, who is himself 
an enthusiast upon whatever is historical concerning 
the sleepy town. It is a good hostelry. The view 
from its back windows and from the steps that lead to 
a terrace below is as fine as any to be had except from 
the top of Mount Subasio itself. I shall never forget 
the evening on those steps, when the full moon swung 
over the valley of the Tiber, and the lights came out 
here and there one by one in the early twilight, like 
fireflies, and then as quickly disappeared; for the na- 
tives of Assisi and neighborhood go early to bed in the 
summer days, and are as early to rise in the cool of 
the morning. Yet one fascinating, bright row of quiv- 
ering arc-lights to the west did not disappear; they 
were on the crest of Perugia, where, long after As- 
sisi and its environs were asleep, the busy multitudes 
in the main piazza were wandering about as if it were 
noonday, gossiping and promenading like modern 
Parisians. The difference between the two commu- 
nities does not show plainer than at eleven at night, 
when in the one spot stillness reigns, and in the other, 
fourteen miles distant, on a hill of the same altitude, 
everybody is awake to enjoy what is called " life." 
The one place seems scarcely of this world; the other 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 207 

is wholly of it, though in location equally far up toward 
the heavens. 

The '* Subasio " hotel directly adjoins San Francis- 
co, so that it is but a step from one's breakfast room 
to the interiors of the monastery and the double 
church. There being worship in progress in the up- 
per church, I visited the lower first. It is a beautiful 
building within, with entrancing frescoes and inlaid 
marbles. Tombs of a queen of Cyprus and of dukes 
and other important personages are to be seen, while 
every chapel is full of interest. Frescoes abound that 
are famous, all of them. But the Tomb of St. Francis 
himself is the chief object of curiosity and veneration. 
It is in the crypt beneath the high altar. One is per- 
mitted to descend into this crypt, and to see the over- 
whelmingly rich shrine, with its sixteen columns of 
jasper and marble, that encloses a part of the solid rock 
in which his sepulchral urn was found in 1818, and 
the stone sarcophagus in which his remains were then 
placed, after their secret hiding for six hundred years. 
When St. Francis died his body was hid, lest other 
towns, especially Perugia, might discover and remove 
it. It was hid so deeply in the bowels of the lower 
church after it was constructed that not one of the As- 
sisans, unless he were of the few in the secret, knew 
where to find it. The proof that this was true is that 
during the centuries preceding the Nineteenth many 
vain efforts were made to find his tomb. Galleries 
were driven in different directions in the rock below 
the basihca, but all attempts failed. But in 1818 it 
was determined by the ecclesiastics of Assisi to make 
sure that the body was within their keeping; accord- 
ingly they labored for fifty nights, secretly, below the 
high altar, removing first many blocks of travertine, 
taken from the early Roman walls of the city, and fi- 



208 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

nally the body was found. " Round the skeleton/' says 
the latest writer on Assisi,* " were found various ob- 
jects, placed, perhaps, by the Assisans, who in this seem 
to have followed the custom of their earliest ancestors," 
(the Etruscans), " as offerings to the dead. There were 
several silver coins, amongst them some of Lucca of 
1181 and 1208, and a Roman ring of the Second Cen- 
tury, with the figure of Pallas holding a Victory in her 
right hand engraved on a red cornelian. . . . 
Bishops, cardinals, priests, archaeologists, even one 
king, came to see the sight. And then the bones were 
reverently put to final rest in a sarcophagus, and round 
it lamps were set burning, and the joy was great that 
the treasure had been found." 

As one returns from this dark crypt into the light- 
er edifice above, he finds the high altar is not set about 
with adornments, such as may be found in any simi^ 
lar church. Instead, he finds a groined vaulting, 
whereon Giotto, head of the Italian school of painting, 
matchless fresco-worker, with superior skill and won- 
derful mastery of his subject, had depicted those four 
scenes illustrative of the vows of the Franciscan order, 
which show his abilities were at the zenith. Giotto, 
" first and strongest painter of his time," and quite as 
great in architecture as in painting, had not known 
St. Francis in the flesh, nor had his master, Cimabue, 
but both knew well men and women who had talked 
with him and had loved him, and none could be better 
fitted to depict his life and character on the cold walls 
of this remarkable double church than were they. Cim- 
abue had wrought work here which was painted over 
later and is lost, but of what remains there is a Ma- 



•Gordon's "Story M Assisi," (1900), a most charming work and by 
far the best guide to the Franciscan monuments of that place. 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 209 

donna as sweet and inspiring as any to be found in any 
fresco of that early age. Says Ruskin: '' To this day, 
among all the Mater Dolorosas of Christianity, Cima- 
bue's at Assisi is the noblest; nor did any painter after 
him add one link to the chain of thought with which 
he summed the creation of the earth and preached its ■ 
redemption." Strong language, but the work stands 
there to-day, admired by all who love high Christian 
art, and far will be the years when this Cimabue ideal 
will be surpassed for beauty or meaning. 

Yet Giotto was greater than he. In this lower 
church and also in the higher are frescoes that would 
enrich forever any artist of the present who could con- 
ceive and execute them. I shall not undertake to cata- 
logue them — any guide-book will do that — but among 
them are those so well-known that merely to name 
them is to recall their wonderful outlines to every cas- 
ual student of high art; for example, " The marriage of 
St. Francis with Poverty," " St. Francis giving his 
cloak to a poor knight," " St. Francis renouncing the 
world," " St. Francis preaching to the birds," etc. 
One of the most beautiful of the series in the upper 
church is that of Santa Chiara taking her last look of 
St. Francis, in which she stoops to kiss his dead body, 
while a small child has climbed into a tree and throws 
down branches to strew before his bier. Independent 
of these wonderful frescoes, both the lower and the 
upper churches are marvels of art. Everywhere in 
arches and friezes, in colorings and figures, are high 
ideals put in concrete stone and pigment. One hardly 
knows which church is the more attractive ; they are 
both perfect, and so curious altogether, especially in 
the very idea of superimposing one great basilica upon 
another equally great church edifice, — as if one were not 
sufficient to honor the God who so honored St. Francis 



210 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

as to call him from his low estate of riches and selfish- 
ness to his later high estate of poverty and charity. 
There is something of interest also to be seen in the 
solitary monastery itself; but let us hie away to San 
Damiano, to the south of the town, far outside from the 
city walls and half-way down the hill. 

San Damiano is a chapel, small and so lonely! Not 
a habitation near it, as I remember. There is a steep 
pitch of hill to reach it, but, when reached and en- 
tered, there is the quiet of a tomb. One or two care- 
takers are there, but that is all to show that life still 
hovers about this tender habitation of Santa Chiara. 

Let us pause at the threshold long enough to get 
a clear idea of what San Damiano is. How old it is 
as a chapel site, no one knows. But it stood there be- 
fore St. Francis' day, and he it was who repaired it, 
by begging bricks wherewith to do it from door ta 
door in Assisi. These repairs he made in order that 
the first woman to join his society, whom we are call- 
ing Santa Chiara, (Chiara Scifi, her name was, the 
daughter of a noble of Assisi), might, with her few 
companions, have a centre for prayer and holy living. 
It is of burning interest, the story of the conversion and 
dedication of Chiara Scifi to the cause St. Francis had 
espoused. She was destined by her father to marry a 
wealthy young man, and she was a woman not only of 
talent and sweetness, but of unusual beauty. *' Her 
face was oval, her forehead spacious, her complex- 
ion brilliant, and her eyebrows and hair very fair,**^ 
said an early writer. This was when she was twenty^ 
and it was in the same year that she first heard St, 
Francis preach, or at least first listened to him with all 
her soul. The year was 1212. He was thirty years of 
age, had just been received at Rome by Pope Inno- 
cent III. and commissioned to carry on his lifework in 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 211 

peace, and he was preaching Lenten sermons in the 
little Assisan church of San Giorgio, which the Scifi 
family attended. Chiara and her sister Agnes were 
pricked to the heart's centre by his eloquent appeals to 
return to the true paths of Christian humility. Chiara, 
first, and her sister afterward, sought out St. Francis, 
and begged him to permit them to follow his new 
mode of life; to be espoused to Poverty and to Christ 
for all their days. No threats of the titled father were 
availing; he could not draw these sisters back to the 
world. St. Francis had not provided for an order of 
women in his scheme of work, but now he accepted 
at the hands of the Benedictine monks, from some of 
whom he was securing recruits, and from all of whom 
he was receiving brotherly aid and good wishes, the 
present of San Damiano chapel. He rebuilt it. And 
so it came to pass that for forty-one years Santa Chiara 
— she was soon so saintly that it hardly needed her death 
to give her the title of saint from all who heard of her 
— lived there, founded an order of women, called the 
" Poor Ladies of San Damiano," but afterward '' Poor 
Clares," which was the astonishment of the religious 
world, and died there, August 12, 1253, the noblest 
character of her age, and one of the purest and noblest 
of all ages. 

Let us enter San Damiano and tread lightly. It 
seems as if it were vacated by Chiara's gentle spirit 
only yesterday. It is said not to have been changed 
since that evening hour when her sweet soul went 
out with those exquisite last words, so often quoted. 
She was speaking softly with some one. '* Mother, 
with whom are you conversing?" said one of her com- 
panions. " Sister," she rephed, '' I am speaking with 
this little soul of mine, now blessed, to whom the 
glory of Paradise is already opening." It has not 



212 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

changed, indeed, since tliat day when some detestable 
Saracens were marched through the country to pillage, 
and when, from the window over the round arch, facing 
a little court, (the same with the ledge above it)> 
she raised the Sacrament up as the soldiers were on a 
ladder to enter her room, and " they fell back blinded." 
It is just the same, we may be sure, as when St. Fran- 
cis himself was borne by brawny men, his dearest 
companions, up from the valley of the Portiuncula, 
where he had died, and by a path just below the city 
wall, to this convent, when Santa Chiara and her re- 
ligious sisters, in their moment of deepest grief, had 
the iron lattice opened and the body of St. Francis held 
tip by the friars, so that one by one the nuns could kiss 
his helpless hands. That window was then closed, 
*^ never again to be opened upon so sad a scene." 

The part first entered is the chapel proper, black 
with age, and with at least one fresco attributed to 
Giotto. Four relics of Santa Chiara are preserved here 
and are very touching. The one is her breviary; an- 
other her bell; another the alabaster pyx (containing 
the Host) which she used when she repulsed the Sar- 
acens; and the last a cross which had been the prop- 
erty of S. Buonaventura. A little room called the 
" Choir of Santa Chiara," in which the forty-eight 
nuns of her order worshiped during her lifetime, is 
even more interesting than the church itself, for here 
are the same well-worn desks, and the plain wooden 
seats used by these good sisters, day after day, for 
nearly half a century. The refectory, with a low vaults 
ed roof and worn oak tables, is also absolutely un- 
changed. Here St. Francis once dined with the nuns, in 
order to comfort, encourage and advise them. He was 
not a priest and could not receive their confessions, 
but he could — for he was a law unto himself in such 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 213 

matters — at least visit them once in awhile to help 
them and be helped by them. Upstairs is the dormi- 
tory, where in one room all the nuns slept, and out 
from it is the one tiny room where Santa Chiara died. 
I went also into the '' garden," which she called her 
own, and where roses and other flowers are yet found, 
planted by faithful hands who do not forget her. It 
is so small ; only a yard or two square ; and is shut in 
by walls, except at part of one side, but it speaks vol- 
umes of what love her heart contained for some of the 
fragrance that, in her childhood, must have been dis- 
tilled from the roses about her father's door. 

Some base men or women in the world have im- 
pugned the motives of St. Francis in visiting Santa 
Chiara and her sisters at San Damiano, and have li- 
kened his regard for her to that of Abelard for Heloise. 
But those of their time knew better. They knew, as 
we know, by unmistakable evidence, that it was one 
of the sweetest of friendships, used wholly to promote 
the service of Christ, and that the commonplace ele- 
ments of earthly love never entered into it, even as a 
semi-conscious factor. It is perfectly clear, from all 
the testimony of those competent to know, that he was 
a brother and she a sister in a cause infinitely more 
dear to their hearts than either as an individual was to 
the other. When will the world come to understand 
that it is possible for men and women to work togeth- 
er with such masterful ideals that they even forget 
each other in the processes that are working out some 
masterpiece in the loom of life? 

Back again into the city. The Church of Santa 
Chiara, as it is called, naturally comes next. It is her 
tomb. Not a wonderful edifice, but with the chapel 
of San Giorgio (which was a church until it became in- 
cluded in the larger edifice of Santa Chiara) containing 



214 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

much to impress, and, most memorable of all, the one 
relic of Santa Chiara's own serene face to venerate. 
San Giorgio was where St. Francis preached when he 
converted Santa Chiara. To it his remains were 
brought and interred in a stone urn until San Francis- 
co was ready. Accordingly, when the " Seraphic 
Mother," as Santa Chiara was often called in her life 
and after, also passed into eternity, the Pope, who was 
in Assisi to attend the dedication of San Francisco, de- 
cided she should be buried in San Giorgio, and, not- 
withstanding the protest of the nuns, who desired to 
have her body remain at San Damiano, there was a re- 
moval of it to San Giorgio. The procession was long 
and the tears numerous, and the burial, like that of St. 
Francis, was temporary, in a funeral urn. Soon a new 
church, to be named after her, began to arise around 
San Giorgio. In a few years it was finished and San 
Giorgio, of sacred memory, was allowed to remain 
within it as a chapel. A reentombment took place, 
and this time the body was securely hid. No one knew 
where to find the body of Santa Chiara until 1850, six 
centuries after her death. Like that of Saint Francis, 
it seemed as if the angels had carried it away to some 
unknown Pisgah. One day a search disclosed it. How 
pretty the story of the finding is : " Five bishops, with 
Cardinal Pecci (the late Pope Leo XIIL) and the 
magistrates of the town, were present at the opening of 
the sepulchre. The iron bars which bound it were 
filed asunder, and the body of the saint was found, ly- 
ing clad in her brown habit, as if buried but a little 
while since ; the wild thyme which her companions had 
sprinkled around her six hundred years ago, withered 
as it was, still sent up a sweet fragrance, while a few 
green and tender leaves are said to have been clinging 
to her veil." A procession was formed and to the joy- 




The Body of Santa Chiara^ Assist. 



I 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 215 

ful pealing of bells, because of the discovery, the body 
was borne, '' little children dressed as angels strewing 
the way with flowers,"' to the Cathedral of San Rufino, 
to San Francisco, and then back. The present sanc- 
tuary for its final disposition was made, and the body 
was placed where it could be seen and " venerated by 
the faithful" in after ages. 

" Venerated by the faithful ! " I could hardly put 
myself in the category of the " faithful," but I looked 
with almost moistened eyes at the fair, waxen face, the 
saintly sleep, of this godly woman, lying in a glass 
case, upon a bed of satin — her head propped up, as it 
were, so she could be the better seen, with her two 
veils thrown back, and her brown garment in folds close 
to her body. No one doubts — there is no reason to 
doubt — that here is the real Santa Chiara; the identity 
of her person has never been disputed. In one hand 
she held a book, in the other an artificial lily, with 
small diamonds shining on its stamens. Ordinarily 
there is a curtain before the tomb, which is in a crypt, 
with gratings to guard, and Italian marbles and Egyp- 
tian alabaster to adorn, the spot. Only one attendant, a 
nun, stands behind the grating when it is desired to 
see the fair, dead face. She gently draws back the cur- 
tain, and a dim light shows the wan and beautiful 
countenance of her who in life was so pure and so no- 
ble, "as the very angels of heaven." I have often 
stood by " relics," even of bodies of centuries-old men 
and women, in other churches of Italy, quite un- 
moved; but I cannot conceive of anyone being a 
spectator, untouched, before the sweet figure of Santa 
Chiara, she of " the oval face and clear brown eyes," 
whom the painters of her day had placed in fresco on 
the walls of this same church, but the original of which 
is so incomparably fairer and more lovely! Nor even 



216 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNJ^Y LANDS 

before the reliquary near, containing those long flaxen 
tresses, cut off from her by St. Francis when she first 
took from his hands the veil. 

The Cathedral of Saint Rufino is large, striking, 
with delicate columns, immense rose windows, curious 
doors, the central one being greatly ornamented. The 
inside, however, does not compare in architectural 
worthiness with the outside. Its bell-tower dominates 
the central part of Assisi, and a statue of St, Francis 
in bronze without, a counterpart of one in marble 
within, both modem, presents him in a characteristic 
attitude of devotion. 

Assisi has no great paintings now — scarcely a 
handful, indeed — though it attracted to it in the cen- 
turies succeeding the days of St. Francis great artists. 
It has the portico of the Roman temple of Minerva, with 
six Corinthian columns, utilized as a front to another 
church, and before it is the opening — in nearly the 
centre of the street — to the ancient Forum, dingy and 
roomy, but without anything remarkable about it, 
though always shown to strangers. There are other 
Roman ruins, but, except the places already described, 
there are only two more spots of real human interest 
in or near Assisi, and these are both connected with 
St. Francis. 

The one is the Hermitage of St. Francis; the " Car- 
ceri," then called, not a prison but a lonely home; a 
building in a cleft between hills about two miles out of 
Assisi, amid the arid rock of Mount Subasio. Unfor- 
tunately, the extreme heat of a fierce July sun pre- 
vented my visiting it. It was where Francis retreated 
when, as a young convert, he wished to obtain abso- 
lute quiet and solitude in order to pray and become 
ready for his great mission. It is said to be a " hermit- 
age " in the strict sense of the word, where, far from the 



THE HOME OF SAINT FRANCIS 217 

sound of any human voice, he could come and live a 
short time in isolated communion with God." When- 
ever he longed for unbroken solitude, here he walked 
and meditated and prayed. The other is the Chapel of 
the Portiuncula, mentioned at the opening of this 
chapter, where he gathered around him his friends, 
and established his order. 

St. Mary of the Angels is the church that encloses 
the Portiuncula; a pretty name, and it is a glorious edi- 
fice. It is an immense church located down on the 
wide plain, built to enclose, " as a casket encloses a 
jewel," that small Portiuncula, which now seems but 
a toy within so great an edifice. The church covers 
much ground, and has a cupola and a bell-tower that 
may be seen for miles in every direction. It was not 
built until the latter part of the Sixteenth Century, but 
it is a vast and magnificent pile, without any large body 
of worshipers except on special occasions, when for 
leagues the peasants come to it and kneel on the cold 
floor in token of veneration to their much-loved saint. 
It has frescoes of genuine power, a charming altar- 
piece by Luca della Robbia, a court wherein bloom 
roses that are supposed to have miraculously sprung 
up where there were thorns, side chapels with much 
ornamentation, and, outside, green spaces, shade trees, 
warbling birds, and the warm sunshine. All these 
things prove that the spot is precious to the Assisans 
and to the Catholic Church, which recognizes its in- 
debtedness to the one wonderful man who reformed 
Assisi and all Umbria in the few short years of his 
saintly life. The centre of attraction, however, is 
that little chapel in the churches centre, whose square 
sides are ornamented with paintings and blaze with 
many colors, but whose interior, black with age, of 
plain stones and old, carved, wooden doors, is a 

14 



218 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

unique specimen of very ancient architecture. When 
this tiny chapel was built at the first it was in an oak 
forest ; its date is uncertain. Some say its foundations 
were laid in the year 352. In the Sixth Century it is 
known to have been repaired by St. Benedict, and 
was then first called " Santa Maria della Portiuncula " 
— Saint Mary of the Little Portion. It was half in 
ruins when St. Francis asked for and obtained posses- 
sion of it in 12 II, and from that date until his death it 
was, for him, the most sacred spot in or near Assisi. 
Close by it he died, in a tiny hut, now also enclosed 
within a small chapel of the big church. Here his 
heart was buried, because his heart was set on this 
ground and not on any spot in the city above, which 
looks down on the plain. One may see here his mon- 
astic cord, and a portion of his bed. 

And so at this church, very near the railway sta- 
tion, let us take our departure from Assisi. The fields 
spread out on every hand filled with corn, vine and 
olive in abundance ; there is a rustle among the leaves 
of the trees, as the soft midsummer zephyrs blow 
across the plain; there are colors in the clouds, and be- 
tween them the wondrous blue of the Italian sky. As 
we leave the earthly hermitage of St. Francis, his 
own gentle voice seems to come floating down from 
the heavens above, in dove-like, pleading tones, as if 
from seraph lips, commending to us forever this hum- 
ble chapel of the Portiuncula : " I will that for all times 
it be the mirror and good example of all religion, and 
as it were a lamp ever burning and resplendent before 
the Throne of God and before the Blessed Virgin." 










•12 
5^ «. 






i 



XIII.— PERUGIA AND SIENA. 

SIENA, AT PRESENT with a population of 
twenty-four thousand, and Perugia, contain- 
ing about eighteen thousand people, were 
once many times as populous, and vied with 
one another in the works of Art — chiefly of "Art upon 
canvas " — which each possessed. To this day the 
citizens of each municipality imagine their own city to 
excel all others in attractiveness of location and also 
in materials for studying the growth of local painters 
of the pre-Renaissance in art. Each city realizes, how- 
ever, that the Philistines — popes, cardinals, emperors 
— carried off to larger capitals the best specimens of 
Duccio, Martini, Peruzzi, Lo Spagna, Francia and oth- 
ers of the lesser note, as well as those of the masters, 
Sodoma, Perugino, Raphael and Pinturicchio. Prob- 
ably, at the first, Siena dominated in the quantity of its 
paintings, but Perugia (after Perugino was there) in 
quality. Perugia, as the student well knows, was the 
centre of the Umbrian school, and Alunno was its 
founder. That school, however, was short-lived. Af- 
ter Raphael — whose teacher was Perugino — learned 
from it and broadened it, it gradually died out, or, per- 
haps, it is better to say, it became merged into those of 
the larger schools. Neither the Sienese nor Perugian 
school had sufficient vitality in itself to reach a first 
rank, and both lost what individuality they had 
before the end of the Sixteenth Century. As to the 
pictures left to-day in the two places, I should say 
that now, as formerly, Siena has more canvas to show 
than Perugia, but in quality Perugia surpasses. 



220 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Quaint Perugia itself is to-day, as always, facile 
princeps in situation of any hill city in Italy. Its loca- 
tion is simply magnificent. As viewed from the val- 
ley below, or as furnishing a view of that valley, its 
location is of the first order, with few equals in the 
world. Although four thousand miles from it as I 
now write, I can see it there on its noble hill, regal 
and superb, queen on an emerald throne; an eagle in 
the empyrean; an angel, once of war, with her bloody 
sword of centuries unsheathed, and later of peace, with 
the same sword hanging harmless by her side, always 
gazing with fairest eyes over the valley known as the 
Umbrian paradise. The view of this same valley from 
Assisi is as charming as an imaginary Arcadia, but 
from Perugia one's eye has a grander sweep ; it sees 
more beautiful harvest and orchard pictures; it is 
encompassed by wider ranges of historic mountains 
and monuments. And the hill itself, on which the 
city stands, is so rich in verdure! "As green as Eng- 
land and as bright as Italy," said a writer, and he knew 
the meaning of those words " green " and " bright." 
On this hill are such well-preserved, handsome, clean- 
cut, artistic buildings, that you feel, when you are 
there, that you are not in an antique capital, but in an 
up-to-date, civilized community. Some things remind 
you of the earliest, but more of modern, days. 

Go out with me beside the " Brufani " (one of the 
most comfortable hotels in all Europe), or look out 
as I did for a long time from one of its upper win- 
dows, and what a "garden of God" is before you! 
I know of no finer scene toward the sunset hour. The 
Vega from the Alhambra is fully equal to it in the 
morning, but lags behind when the twilight of day ap- 
proaches and the evening sun has not yet set. Then 
the panorama is as bewitching as an Arabian Night's 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 221 

dream. Over yonder, a brief distance only to the eye, 
though a dozen miles in a straight line, is that sleepy, 
saintly city of the founder of the Franciscans. It lies 
on a high hill like Perugia, and what history of one 
man and his order is wrapt up in it ! To the right of 
it, Spello • Spello, with its ancient walls and interesting, 
even fascinating, views of the Umbrian plain ; Spello, 
mediaeval, unspoiled Spello, where Pinturicchio left so 
much of his genius. A little more to the south is 
Bevagna, the actual town hidden from view, it is true ; 
but who does not think of the locality as the trysting- 
place of St. Francis and the birds? What a love match 
that was, when this holy man held convocation with 
the birds as his listeners and talked to them on the 
plain — perhaps just where we see the hill pushing 
down toward the Tiber yonder — and called them " my 
little brethren." Books have few such gems, human 
speech has rarely reached such pathos, as came into 
literature when this wanderer from Assisi found there 
that day the troop of fluttering rooks, doves and bull- 
finches, and told them how much he loved them, and 
how in gratitude for living they should praise God. 
" Stretching out their necks, opening their beaks, and 
spreading their wings, the birds listened while they 
fixed their eyes upon the saint, and never moved even 
when he walked in their midst, touching them with his 
habit, until he made the sign of the Cross and allowed 
them to depart." So said the chronicler, and who 
shall say the legend has no truth? Then Foligno, with 
its towers sunk into the plain; despised Foligno, 
where Niccolo Alunno painted saints and angels so 
divinely fair. Behind Foligno, ilex woods, and hill 
upon hill beyond them, each tipped in the shimmering 
sapphire of the struggling mists that already begin 
to arise with the evening and make a curtained taber- 



222 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

nacle for the descending sun. Next Trevi. One should 
visit Trevi, if only to drive out to that exquisite Tem- 
ple of Clitumnus. Roman work, perhaps; perhaps 
semi-Christian; described by Pliny when in its glory, 
and then by Byron. Nearer, just beneath in fact, but 
extending on far past Foligno, is the rich, vivid green 
valley of the Tiber, into which a hundred mountain 
streams pour during the winter; their beds now dry as 
a desert, but those beds distinct as ribbons of brown 
on the larger patches of emerald. Patches, indeed; 
the meadow-fields and the impinging harvest-fields, 
waving with yellow corn and full of umbrageous oaks, 
are in lots and plats, none so large that every indus- 
trious laborer might not have one for his renting if he 
will; for there are no nobleman's estates going to 
waste in Umbria. All the shades of the yellows and 
browns and greens troop here into vision on this hot, 
late and now wind-sown afternoon. Hot though it be, 
the strong wind toys with the foliage and the corn, 
and who knows if a thunder-shower may not be near? 
Now turn westward. Siena is to the far west, out 
of sight, for the eye cannot make the long sweep of 
sixty miles over intervening hills. But there are 
ragged and rugged, seamed and scarred, towering and 
cloudless mountains girding its lonesomeness, and the 
spaces between exhibit every kind of lofty tumblings 
of earth-billows, in every conceivable position of tired 
restlessness, waiting for the night to give them rest 
and peace. Far to the north and east rise other hills, 
ascending and ascending to meet the serrated back- 
bone of the Apennines, some portions of which are 
even yet in June white with unm.elted snows, but most 
of which are dark with sullen pines and heavily-gar- 
mented chestnuts. How wonderful that, as the shad- 
ows of evening deepen, this entire panorama of moun- 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 223 

tain and plain still holds its variegated charms! But 
the glorious Oriental colors are toning down: the 
browns becoming browner, the greens gray, and the 
gold of the yellows putting on coats of silvery alloy. 
The winds have become zephyrs and then hushed ; the 
voices from the hills, of laborers and shepherds, grow 
fainter and have wholly ceased ; the last rosy glow of 
the evening fades into dim starlight. One is ready to 
arise and say : ' The vail of Darkness, and also of Si- 
lence, will rest here, not fitfully but finally, until the 
sunrising.' Not so. Wait an hour; wait two hours. 
From out the little round window on the upper floor 
of the ''Brufani" look with me again upon the same 
panorama which the Darkness had seemed to cover at 
the curfew bell's call. The pall has lifted. There, again, 
is the fascinating Tiber. There are the numberless ad- 
jacent hills, the meadows, the oak trees, the harvests, 
the olive groves, the vineyards, the far-and-near patch- 
es, not revived to green but distinct and velvety. There 
are the storm-stained mountains. Above them is a 
sky as unflecked as the waters of the River of Life; as 
"soft and purple as the Mediterranean of the Riviera be- 
fore Eza; and in the midst of it the round, white, 
peaceful guardian of the night's scene, the "silver- 
footed moon." High up it walks over the Apennines, 
lighting all the miles and miles between us and the 
farthest rim of space. Here and there are the brightest 
of the stars, her sweetest sisters, shining with a bril- 
liancy that proves we are in the land of song and story, 
in far, fair Italy. How soft the night air is ! How de- 
liciously cool after the palpitating, furnace-heated day! 
The zephyrs that were put almost to sleep are roused 
again, and toy with the curtains of the windows, and 
grow yet stronger. Soon they blow like an autumnal 
gale, awaking from their sleep every blade of grass; 



224 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

bending as nuns' heads the dehcate flowers in the 
pretty gardens. Perhaps there is a thunder-storm aris- 
ing in the distance. Anyhow a miracle has been 
wrought and the landscape is awake again. Can one 
ever forget the m.oonlight revivification of this en- 
chanted ground? Lights in the valley, lights in the 
heavens; waters scintillating in the strangely weird 
moonbeams ; the beds of worn-out streams twisting 
about as black serpents ; fields showing anew every di- 
vision of verdure; hills growing into giants; moun- 
tains putting on colossality and piercing anew the sky! 
Can you wonder I could scarcely go to my night's re- 
pose for the prospect? And this was Perugia, the 
home of Perugino, the tutoring-place of Raphael, the 
foe and conqueror of Assisi. Etruscan capital once; 
capital of Beauty now ; always the unique, the incom- 
parable ! 

Perugia was one of the twelve ancient cities that 
formed the Etruscan Confederation until its surrender 
to the Romans, B. C. 309. So its continuous history 
has been much over two thousand years. There is lit- 
tle in it to-day, however, going back of the Middle 
Ages. The gateway, called the Arch of Augustus, 
from Augustus Caesar, but partially Etruscan, is al- 
most the sole relic of very early times. That gateway 
has towers on each side of it, the lowermost portions 
of which are also ancient, but the upper parts mod- 
ern. As that arch is of travertine, uncemented, some 
of the blocks being four feet by eighteen inches in 
length and width, and as, with the later additions made 
to it, it stands up seventy feet above the pavem.ent, it 
is a most interesting relic. Almost all the walls of 
Perugia are intact. Some parts of them are perhaps 
three thousand years old; all melancholy mionuments 
of sanguinary days. Perugia, as the reader knows, was 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 225 

always a fighting place; a city where frequent and most 
bloody massacres occurred; and its armed men us- 
ually knew how to do battle bravely. The term Pe- 
rugian was never synonymous with the word " coward." 

Near the " Hotel Brufani " is the Piazza Vittoria 
Emanuele, as it is now called, by no means the centre 
of the city, and yet the centre of its evening life. Every- 
body goes there in the light of the sunset hour, and 
later, to hear the news and to enjoy a promenade. The 
main street, called the Corso, runs out from it to the 
north. Upon this street are the main buildings that in- 
terest a visitor, including the old municipal building, 
the picture galleries and the Cathedral. 

The Cathedral is famed, but does not compare in 
beauty with that of Siena. Being upon one side of a 
square, with the old municipal building upon the other 
side, both battle-worn and full of stirring associations, 
one naturally loves to linger around the spot and drink 
in memories of stirring historical events. The munic- 
ipal building (the Palazzo Publico) is much the better 
preserved of the two great structures. Indeed, that 
must look now precisely as it did when it was the pal- 
ace of the popes and the rendezvous of the nobility. 
For five hundred and fifty or more years it has stood, 
impassive to the most interesting events of which this 
Umbrian capital was the centre. What occurred with- 
in its walls and without on this square reads like fiction 
rather than sober prose. One who studies over Fa- 
bretti's " Chronicles " of Perugia's inner history leaves 
off the perusal as in a dream, or a nightmare, and won- 
ders whether it is a vn^ork of the imagination or is solid 
fact, so strange and thrilling are the events. As the 
more recent '* Story of Perugia" describes it: ''It 
v/as here that the people of Perugia fought and judged, 
preached and repented, loved maybe, and most cer- 



226 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tainly hated. It was in this Httle pulpit above our 
heads that S. Bernardino preached, and saw the books 
of necromancy and the false hair of the ladies burned; 
here that the Podesta and the people received ambas- 
sadors with deeds of submission from terrified neigh- 
bouring towns. On the spikes of the railing round the 
fountain one set of nobles stuck the heads of others 
whom they hated, whom they slaughtered; and down 
those steps of the palazzo opposite the great proces- 
sion of the Priori came on days of solemn ceremony, 
and up through the dark gateway of the Canonica the 
Pope and all his cardinals passed in when they arrived 
from Rome. Truly the spirit of the past history is not 
dead. It is painfully and supremely living. The Piaz- 
za di S. Lorenzo on a December night, with wind- 
storms hurrying the sleet across its great grim walls, 
is more absolutely filled with the terribilita of humanity 
than anything we ever realized."* 

Singularly enough, the Cathedral in times of war 
was the fortified spot, the barricade, the heart of de- 
fence, rather than the palace. It is simply now peace- 
ful and ugly. Naked brick work is never artistic and 
such is the general outside appearance of this historic 
monument. It was intended to face it with marbles, 
but prosperity did not last long enough to enable the 
Perugians to carry out their design. Within it has a 
little more presentability ; a few good tombs, some 
beautiful wooden choir stalls and a fine altar-piece. But 
no one can deliberately fall in love with the Cathedral 
of San Lorenzo as a work of art. 

It is in the old Chamber of Commerce, adjoining 
the Palace, where the celebrated frescoes of Perugino 
are to be seen. Perugino's name was Vannucci, but, 



*Symonds and Gordon's "Story of Perugia", p. 109. 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 227 

when nine years of age, he was apprenticed to the 
trade of an artist in Perugia, near which he was born, 
and from this city he took the name by which even his 
contemporaries knev/ him when he achieved his fame. 
I was at first somewhat disappointed in these frescoes. 
Yet it is apparent that, considering the time in which 
he worked and the originaUty he exhibited, he made 
a bound beyond his immediate early contemporaries, 
as is easily seen by comparison with other painters of 
his day in this very city and also at Siena. There are 
also over thirty more works of this same master in 
the regular Pinacoteca, which is not far away from the 
Chamber of Commerce, at least three of which have 
great reputation : the '' Nativity," the " Baptism of 
Christ," and a Madonna. Raphael was a student of 
Perugino's at Perugia, but the city seems to possess 
no important work of his, executed either in his 
younger or later life, if we except his earliest fresco in 
the convent of S. Severo. What he performed here 
is now scattered over Europe. 

Of the Pinacoteca, containing perhaps two hundred 
separate paintings, I can only suggest that artists will 
find it more interesting than the general pubhc. For 
Perugia it is a most worthy collection. But after 
Rome, Florence, Venice, the Louvre, it seems tame, 
perhaps because mostly removed from what is modem 
taste. As a study of what was contained from the 
Thirteenth to- the Sixteenth Centuries in the churches 
and suppressed monasteries of Perugia, and as exhibit- 
ing the beginnings of Umbrian art, it is of great, if 
not transcendent, importance. But the ordinary vis- 
itor turns away from it fatigued with repetitions of 
"flat" surfaces on the canvases; of Madonnas, saints 
and angels, who were, as a rule, neither handsome nor 
intellectual, and he sighs for the " gems " which are in 



228 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the larger capitals of Europe. The fact is — and this 
remark applies to various other collections of paint- 
ings in Europe — these altar-pieces, which most of the 
better class of paintings are, were never intended to 
be wrenched from their original settings behind ora- 
tories and in tiny chapels, where the " dim religious 
light " of day, or that of many candles, made them fit- 
ting, expressive and tender representations of gentle 
reverie and pious worship. 

There are some fine convents, smaller churches and 
chapels within and just outside the city limits of Peru- 
gia, well deserving of a visit and of careful study; es- 
pecially the Church of San Pietro, erected about the 
year looo. But, after all, it is not these, nor the so- 
called house of Perugino, nor the interesting Museum 
of Antiquities, nor the paintings, frescoes and antiques 
which make Perugia such a delightful spot in which 
most travelers like to spend, not days, but weeks and 
weeks. It is its wonderful views and its equally 
wonderful atmosphere, and, added to these, its 
cleanly dignity as a city. It is a place full of quiet 
nobility. You feel at home in Perugia, as if on classic 
g-round, and it is a thoroughly civilized place. So far 
as it is antique, it is rather Greek than Italian, remind- 
ing one of the heights of Athens, but without ruins 
and lacking no good thing for comfort. Its atmos- 
phere is as pure as the summer breezes, or the warm 
winter sun, can make it, full of glorious translucence. 
There is said to be no wind of heaven in its vicin- 
ity that passes Perugia by; no opalescent beam of 
sunshine that does not descend straight upon it and 
kiss away its morning mists and nightly chill. Be this 
as it may, I found it as a city altogether charming; a 
rose among many Italian flowers ; a coronet of ever- 
varying atmospheric and architectural colors. 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 229 

If I have not called attention to the Etruscan sepul- 
chrCvS, which are near to Perugia and which deserve 
from every traveler a personal visit, it is because I 
could not see them. Time, but especially the sun, for- 
bade. I happened to be in Perugia in July, when a 
wave of intense heat was breaking records on the 
thermometer and it was unfit to drive out of the city, 
even for two hours. 

It is a long railway ride on a hot day to Siena, 
which is at least eighty miles from Perugia by rail. 
The route contains, as I remember it, only one soli- 
tary spot where there is plenitude of bloom and 
beauty, such as would cheer a passing traveler on this 
lonesome way. That spot is Lake Thrasymene, 
where fifteen thousand Romans were slaughtered by 
the army of Hannibal, B. C. 217. While almost unin- 
habited on its shores to-day, it is almost as beautiful 
as one of the fair Lombardy lakes in the region of 
Brescia. Its still, placid waters do not look as if they 
had ever been witnesses to one of the most bloody 
engagements of ancient times. Well has the poet 
mused: 

"Is this the stream, thus gliding soft and slow, 
That, from the gushing wounds of thousands, grew 
So fierce a flood, that waves of crimson hue 
Rushed on the bosom of the lake below? 
The mountains that gave back the battle-cry 
Are silent now; perchance yon hillock's green 
Mark where the bones of those old warriors lie! 
Heaven never gladdened a more peaceful scene; 
Never left softer breeze a fairer sky 
To sport upon thy waters, Thrasymene." 

Arnold's " History of Rome " tells the tale in the 
perfection of concreteness and precision. Here the 
railway skirts the low shore and, indeed, runs directly 
through the spot of slaughter. There are two little 
fishing hamlets near the water's edge, but otherwise 



230 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

this large lake, seven miles broad and twenty-six miles 
round, has a desolation of reeds for its close environ- 
ment. There are three islands in the lake to add to its 
picturesqueness, and on a warm summer day the mir- 
rory surface, pale green because shallow, beckons hard 
for a plunge in, or for a sail across, the placid waters. 

Siena is in Tuscany. Like Perugia, it rests high 
up on a hill, or, rather, on two or three hills closely 
joined together. It is not so well situated as Perugia 
for protection in time of war; not so conspicuous from 
the valley on the side where the railway runs. And 
one sees much less of it before climbing into it than 
after, for, while less elevated — Perugia being nearly 
four hundred feet higher above the sea — its back is 
turned away from the approach. All its surroundings 
are melancholy. The typical Italian vineyards and 
fruit lands are absent. I can scarcely describe in 
words the impressions the surroundings of antique 
Siena made upon me as I journeyed to it from bright 
Perugia in midsummer. It was as if I had suddenly 
plunged from sweetness and beauty into a region of 
sterility and a desert. It is just so as one continues be- 
yond Siena northward until the valley of the Arno is 
reached, where, as in the case of the valley of the Tiber, 
fertility reasserts itself, and the vine, the olive, and the 
corn make glad the eye again. A " champaign" coun- 
try it is called; which means that it is low, flat and un- 
profitable for agriculture. There are hills, here and 
there, however; chalky, mean, arid hills, bearing some 
scattering stone-pines, cypresses and acacias, but gen- 
erally desolate. Nobody who can help it lives in this 
waste. On many of those hills, it is true, there are 
villages, perched there like the domiciles of the Amer- 
ican cliff-dwellers; hamlets which have a brown, 
weather-beaten, mediaeval look, as if storms, wars and 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 231 

earthquakes had shaken all Hfe out of them. Tombs 
of living people, I should say, and one wonders why 
such sepulchres were ever inhabited. But from time 
immemorial they have been occupied by somebody, 
and we must presume their descendants do not know 
where else to go. 

The same sort of steep ascent which takes one up 
to Perugia and Assisi forms the winding roadway to 
Siena. Not until the last turning is made do you feel 
you are really in an inhabited place. Then compact 
rows of stone buildings line the streets, and these are 
as crooked as if they were originally but cow-paths. 
Yet you see at once that Siena has life. It is not petri- 
fied, but breathing. It is not as trim and clean-looking 
as Perugia, but it has more of an air of business, less 
of pleasure and ease. It is a walled town, with palace 
towers, campanile, city hall, many churches. On the 
whole, the first impression of it is not over-flattering. 
But it covers much more ground than Perugia, and its 
size and virility grow on one hour by hour after he 
enters it. 

After getting comfortable for the night at a good 
hotel there, the " Royal," next morning I went out on a 
tour of inspection, and soon began to marvel at the m.ag- 
nitude and stability of the public buildings. Not only 
so, but those buildings were as artistic as imposing. 
One may speak in unbounded praise of the two grand- 
est structures, the Palace (the Palazzo Publico), and 
the Cathedral, the latter being one of the wonders of 
Italy. And as Siena also had St. Catherine, what more 
need it possess to make her pride swell and her soul 
grow brave! Within and without the Palace has 
strength, repose, regality. Not marvelous, but sim- 
ply splendidly strong and heroic looking, a triumph 
of permanency and genius. Its exquisite small chapel 



232 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

contains fine frescoes of Sodoma. The building 
abounds in works by Fredi and Manetti; its hall has 
charming paintings by Lorenzetti, Memmi, Bartolo, 
Niccolo, and even by Fra Angelico, and are full of ob- 
jects of interest otherwise. But its greater claim to 
public favor is that immense, massive, striking exte- 
rior, flanked by the one tall, square, slender tower, 
higher and grander than the tower of the Palazzo Vec- 
chio in Florence, itself one of the tallest palace towers 
in Europe. This Siena tower — del Mangia, as it is 
called — is extremely tall, and so attractive from 
every point of view that in looking at it one grows 
happy over the thought that no destiny of war or time 
has changed it a particle from the day it left the hands 
of its Fourteenth Century architect. This del Mangia, 
finished in 1345, after twenty years of labor, may have 
been in its earliest days chiefly a watch-tower, like us- 
ual campaniles, but, whatever its original purpose, it 
stands there unrivalled as an artistic triumph, as 
perfect as when its builders came down from its sum- 
mit and received the plaudits of the hundred thousand 
citizens of the city, who then moved on to the con- 
struction of a grander edifice near by, one in which to 
worship God. 

There is an immense square before this palace, 
long called the Piazza del Campo. Now the modem 
spirit of sycophancy has changed its historic title to 
Piazza Vittoria Emanuele. This is the actual centre 
of the present city, which spreads out from this square 
in three sections, like a starfish, with extending 
bodies to the north, south and west. This piazza was 
once, but is not now, the promenade spot of Siena. You 
can see it is grass-grown and desolate. One can judge 
of its size from the fact that horse-races are still, or 
were until recently, held within it. Here once gath- 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 233 

ered all the popular assemblies; here were observed 
the many festivals of the ancient republic. One has a 
sense of almost boundless immensity about this open 
ground, especially in the night season. And the build- 
ings that girt it round are so royal that the mind is 
awed and thrilled. What has happened here? What 
has not happened here? This identical spot was Etrus- 
can once, Roman once, the forum of a Republic once, 
but strangely Italian now. And may one not suppose it 
is intensely Christian, for are not all those public build- 
ings and the city gateways marked with the cabalistic 
letters, " I. H. S.", as the result of the preaching of S. 
Bernardino? , 

That fountain yonder, what is that? Not pretty; a 
poor copy of a sublime original erected in 1419, almost 
five hundred years ago. What a splendid specimen 
of art that fountain was we know from what is left of 
its original in the museum and from its present repro- 
duction. Its marine animals in the basin, bearing on 
their backs happy children, and its dolphins and 
wolves, from whose open mouths flowed such cooling, 
sparkling water, made it celebrated throughout all 
Italy. The water still flows, after its long meandering 
in underground pipes for eighteen miles from the out- 
side higher hills; the children still slake their thirst 
from the Fountain of Gaja as did the children of the 
earlier prophets, builders, preachers and painters of 
far-away Tuscan days. 

The Cathedral of Siena, standing on the highest 
ground in the city, still an incomplete production ac- 
cording to the designs of its founders, is the most fin- 
ished of any thing north of Rome. It is not large, 
though it impresses one as being twice its real magni- 
tude, but it is inexpressibly beautiful. " Glorious and 
glowing," says Mr. Hare. Exuberant with surprising 

16 



234 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

delights, I should add. It is so unexpectedly hand- 
some! Siena, as has been indicated, is a browned old 
town, with Httle of real modernness about it, and with 
serpentine, narrow streets and a general plainness of 
things that would indicate no such superb structure 
near the heart of the place. But here this building 
stands, marble-clothed, in a fascinating habit of 
black and white; intermixed, too, with some red; so 
new in its lustre; so barbaric withal. What a facade 
it has! That was designed by Giovanni Pisano, in three 
gables, decorated with prophets and angels, rich in re- 
cent mosaics. Like the front of the Cathedral of Flor- 
ence, wrought by Giotto, the curious intermixing of 
black and white polished marbles has a most peculiar 
effect. 

Of the two cathedrals, of Florence and Siena, both 
so similar, the front of the Siena Cathedral is the more 
beautiful. One glance at this facade — even a ten min- 
utes look at it — is not sufficient. There is too much to 
study from summit to doorway and even down to the 
foundation stones. Our own Hawthorne was mightily 
impressed by it, for he wrote with intensity of feeling, 
when he said in his " Marble Faun " this: "But what I 
wish to express, and never can, is the multitudinous 
richness of the ornamentation; the arches within arch- 
es, sculptured inch by inch, of the rich doorways; the 
statues of saints, some making a hermitage of a niche, 
others standing forth; the scores of busts, that look 
like faces of ancient people, gazing down out of the 
Cathedral; the projecting shapes of stone lions — the 
thousand forms of Gothic fancy, which seem to soften 
the marble and express whatever it liked, and allow 
it to harden again to last forever. And this description 
gives no idea of the truth, nor, least of all, can it 
shadow forth that solemn whole, mightily combined 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 235 

out of all these minute particulars, and sanctifying the 
entire ground over which this Cathedral-front flings 
its shadows, or on which it reflects the sun. A majesty 
and minuteness, neither interfering with the other, 
each assisting the other, this is the true charm of 
Gothic architecture. . . . How much pride, love 
and reverence in the lapse of ages must have clung to 
the sharp points of all this sculpture. The Cathedral 
is a religion in itself — something worth dying for to 
those who have an hereditary interest in it." And 
Hawthorne, as we all know, was only given to sublima- 
tions of deep feeling " when the hour struck twelve." 

It is within, however, where the real intention of 
Sienese art during the long period of its building shows 
to chief advantage. There it is, carved out of stone, 
one solemn, strange, quaint, harmonious gem; a rare 
and distinct pearl among many pearls of ecclesiastical 
architecture in Italy. When one is told that the whole 
building is but the transept of what was intended to be 
the church, we can believe what some one has stated, 
that the edifice the Sienese architect had in mind when 
he planned this colossal place of worship was to out- 
rival St. Peter's. It never was half finished, yet it is 
enough as it is to make the worshiper within its walls 
feel conscious of the beauty of a perfect specimen of 
" architectural holiness." 

Mrs. Browning once referred to the Cathedral as 
'' tiger-striped." There are heads of popes running 
around the interior, and it is to them she alludes when 
she speaks of — 

"the popedom's hundred heads of stone, 
Which blink down on you from the roof's retreat 
In Siena's tiger-striped Cathedral." 

Mr. Howells thinks that the nickname of the '' Holy 
Zebra" might apply. While the effect of the alternate 



236 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

stripes is peculiar, especially in the interior, where 
every column as well as the four walls is alike in this 
particular, it cannot be said that the impression made 
is unpleasant. On the contrary, it is religious and up- 
lifting. It is an impression like that received in the 
still stranger Moorish temple in Cordova. One can 
never forget it. In my case, this Sienese Cathedral 
has haunted me ever since I saw it as something of 
unusual uniqueness and almost superhuman skill. 

To one who knows the history of this Cathedral, it 
will appear to be a vast, rich, gorgeous monument to 
the slain of the days of its building. The plague came 
while it was in process of erection, and so severe was 
the death-rate that it bereft the city of three-fourths of 
its people. Out of a hundred thousand inhabitants, 
eighty thousand were swept away! This was in 1348, 
in the very heyday of Siena's fame. Is it any wonder 
that this wonderful work of art, which had been des- 
tined to outrival any church south of the Alps, but 
which was only beginning to show its true magnifi- 
cence in transept and facade, came to an unwonted 
end? All that the Sienese had heart to do was to finish 
up what was already enclosed; and so they let it stay 
forever, a memorial to a dire catastrophe and to "what 
might have been." 

What force of beauty and strength of will, what 
praiseworthy ardency of hope, those grand architects 
and painters must have had, to have begun so vast a 
work of art in which to worship Jehovah, we can 
scarcely realize in this more practical age of ours. And 
what they accomplished, spite of the decree of that 
Fate that overturned their fondest expectations, is a 
church of such richness that, as our Mr. Howells has 
well said in his " Tuscan Cities'*: " Trust me that if we 
had a tithe of that lavish loveliness in one structure in 




Interior of Siena Cathedral. 



i 

I 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 237 

America, the richness of that one would impoverish 
the effect of all the other buildings on the continent." 
I have neither power nor inclination to go into any 
minuteness of description as to the interior of this one 
masterpiece of Sienese art. The guide-books do that. 
The pulpit by Niccolo Pisano, the various grotesque 
ornamentations, the fine paintings, the beautiful mar- 
ble sculptures, the curious terra cotta busts of the 
popes, were less to me than the harmonized colorings 
of the whole. It is the tout ensemble that captivates one 
most. There are two things, however, in this Cathe- 
dral, which I especially mention as worthy of more 
study than is usually given to them. One is the library 
room, whose frescoes are by Pinturicchio, assisted by 
Raphael, and wherein there are sixty of those monas- 
tical choir books, illuminated and bound in vellum, 
the work of the Fourteenth Century and earlier, un- 
surpassed by their Hke in the world. To a lover of 
missals this room is like a holy place, to be entered 
reverently. The other is the Cathedral pavement; that 
inlaid work in umber and black on a white marble 
ground, which is now kept covered by a special floor- 
ing to prevent its destruction from the tramp of many 
feet, but which will be shown here and there by the sac- 
ristan when visitors desire to see its wondrous figures. 
Some of this work is as old as the Cathedral, and some 
of a later date, but it is all curiously effective. The 
figures themselves represent the history of the Old 
Testament. First, sibyls meet us at the doorway; 
then come the Jewish heroes — Moses, Joshua, Samson, 
Solomon, Judas Maccabaeus — each performing mighty 
deeds; and then follow special incidents in the lives 
of Adam, Abraham and the prophets. Both men and 
horses are drawn in the most difficult attitudes and al- 
ways with precision and vigor. The oldest pavement 



238 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

is of white marble filled with black stucco; later there 
were laid down gray and colored marbles, but all har- 
moniously blend into an incomparable whole. 

Not very far from the Cathedral, down a steep hill, 
is the house of St. Catherine, now turned into a chapel 
with accessory rooms. Over the doorway are these 
words inscribed in Latin, in letters of gold: " House 
of Catherine, Spouse of Christ." I saw the room she 
occupied; her veil, staff and lantern; the stone on 
which she placed her head at night when sleeping; 
frescoes picturing the chief events of her life; and, 
near by, the church in which her head is inurned, the 
same which is now shown as a relic once a year, on 
the sixth of May. Some of her bones are supposed 
to be scattered far and wide in other churches in Eu- 
rope. The best, and certainly an authentic, portrait- of 
her, painted by Vanni,who knew and admired her with 
almost passionate devotion, shows St. Catherine to 
have been a thin, fair woman, with small but charming 
face. In fact it is so realistic that one can almost pause 
before that picture and expect to hear her speak, as, 
with a lily in one hand, she gently stoops over and ex- 
tends her other hand to a nun kneeling before her. 
The painting is in the church of S. Domenico, and is 
not to be missed on any account. We are told it agrees 
perfectly with the head itself, which is said to be so 
well preserved that there can be no mistaking the fact, 
when one gazes upon it, that he is looking into the 
very face of the dead St. Catherine, on whose eye- 
brows still rests the unutterable calm of a sleep intc 
which she might have fallen but yesterday. In this 
same church, in St. Catherine's chapel, are some of 
the finest frescoes of Sodoma, representing her life as 
history and tradition picture it. 

St. Catherine was a remarkable woman in more 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 23^ 

ways than one, and to this day no biographer has aris- 
en who can explain the phenomena of her Hfe. The 
leading events are perfectly well-known, though 
so mystical in many details and bearings. She was 
so noted at her death in 1380, when only thirty-three 
years of age, that at once her house, as her name, was 
enshrined in the hearts of her countrymen, and there 
seems no reason to doubt the genuineness of most of 
the relics connected with her shown in Siena. But 
was she sane, or insane? Had she delusions? Were 
her visions genuine? She could not write, yet she 
dictated stirring letters, and was a power in politics 
and church scarcely second to the Pope himself. She 
mediated between cities in their quarrels, induced 
Gregory XL to make a reformation in a most impor- 
tant church policy, preached a crusade against the 
Turks, won over mobs, as an angel of mercy toiled 
among men dying of plague, and attracted to her saint- 
liness the attention of all Europe. "Alone and aided 
by nothing but a reputation for sanctity, she dared, to 
tell the greatest men in Europe of their faults; she 
wrote in words of well-assured command and they 
. . . could not treat with scorn the voice of an 
enthusiastic girl." Her life was a drama of devotion, 
of duty and of passion for Christ; but always melodra- 
matic, strange, Joan-of- Arc-like (yet she never drew a 
sword) ; no wonder it has always been sui generis and 
incomprehensible. She lived a hundred years and 
more after the remarkable age which saw St. Francis, 
and she was utterly unlike him in a dozen diflferent 
points ; yet, with less education but equal sanctity, she 
made almost as much of an impression on her time 
as he did in his. These two persons, more than any 
others who have ever lived south of the Alps since the 
days of the early martyrs, moved levers that upturned 



240 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the Italian world, and powerfully affected the spiritual 
aspirations and actions of millions of people through- 
out the whole of Christendom. Both first alike stripped 
themselves of everything that might be called a posses- 
sion, and then built up for themselves in the lives of 
others monuments that will never perish. None of us 
may be a St. Francis or a St. Catherine, but from 
them we can learn lessons concerning poverty and 
riches, which, rightly employed, may serve to lift up 
human souls toward the highest heights. 

The Fine Arts Institute of Siena is where so many 
altar-pieces, painted during the Thirteenth and Four- 
teenth Centuries, are to be seen, and a few of them 
are paintings of a high grade. Nevertheless, of the 
five hundred pictures there exhibited, I should speak 
of them in praise chiefly as being early incentives to 
better things. Sodoma's " The Flagellation " fresco 
is there, easily ranking first among his works, but even 
that, while a masterpiece, repels ; that age was too 
gloomy for Twentieth Century praise. 

While all these pictures and the Cathedral and the 
palace front, tower and square, have passed through 
the eye and mind, the traveler, ere he leaves Siena, will 
sigh for a change. He will desire green fields and 
fresh air. These he can secure, together with lovely 
extraneous views of the city, on the Lizza, the chief 
promenade by day and night, and the one place for 
driving at the close of the afternoon. It is, indeed, al- 
most the only level spot in the city. Here the popu- 
lace gather afternoons and evenings rather than in the 
piazza before the palace. It w^as not always so; it is 
a modern idea, perhaps, for the people to get away 
from grim walls out into the sunshine and freer oxy- 
gen. From this vantage ground, one can walk still 
further to the Fort St. Barbera, and there view gardens 



PERUGIA AND SIENA 241 

in profusion, red walls and arid summits in the dis- 
tance, until the impression is almost overpowering 
that the spectator does not stand in Siena, but some- 
where in the Holy Land, where natural drought has 
consumed the vegetation of the hills, and where the 
hand of man can only by indomitable perseverance 
plant groves and flowers amid the rocks, and make it 
possible for bare and beetling cliflfs to be the dwellings 
of civilized men. 

Siena, like Perugia and Assisi, must ever remain 
wonderful because of its natural site and its adorn- 
ments in Art. Each city, when viewed from the right 
point and with a reverent heart, is a perpetual miracle. 



XIV.— TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE/' 

SIR EDV^^IN ARNOLD, who died so recently 
that the flowers have not had time to bloom, 
above his revered ashes, a man of great in- 
sight intO' what was mystically ornate, but with- 
al not a poet of the first order, once stated that 
" the most poetical place he knew of was Fleet Street." 
"It differs very much," he continued, " from the slopes 
of Fujisan and the beautiful open sea, but there is 
nothing so interesting as humanity." In the last anal- 
ysis Sir Edwin was right; " there is nothing so inter- 
esting as humanity ;" but the humanity of Fleet Street 
or of the Rue de Rivoli is scarcely poetical. At all 
events, for some of us other mortals there are far truer 
and sweeter poetical notes in that " beautiful open 
sea," which Arnold puts into the background; the mul- 
tifarious, sparkling, billowy, untamed, endlessly-music- 
al sea, which, whenever it comes into the vision, links 
itself with peculiar delight, if not tenderness, to the 
strings of the human heart. 

Perhaps the reader and I may not have the same 
point of view concerning the " vasty deep," which we 
or our friends are so often crossing in leviathan 
ships, but to me it embraces the most wonderful scope 
for thought, and has within its checkered folds the 
most perfect rhythms in music, of any mundane thing. 
I cannot express the unutterable joy I feel every time 
I embark on that great, unmastered, Jove-like sea, 
that haunts our coasts from Labrador to the Florida 
Keys, and that stretches out to the east to the Pillars 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 243 

of Hercules and far beyond, until it girdles the whole 
world with its azure and seamless robe. Indeed I feel 
a pity for the one who, from symptoms of mal de mer 
or otherwise, cannot throb with the same emotions. 

"There is no music that man has heard 

Like the voice of the minstrel Sea, 
Whose major and minor chords are fraught 

With infinite mystery — 
For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God 

Play over his rhythmic breast. 
And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings 

The song of a vast unrest." 

But what has all this ecstacy over the common, 
every-day ocean to do with our subject ? Ah ! You can 
never put your mind in sympathy with an early Vene- 
tian if you have neither knowledge of nor love for the 
paths of the sea. To him the watery expanse was 
everything, especially as it brought to him food from 
its depths, and prizes and honors from its commerce, 
such as made his little nation famous. What the sea 
then was, say when Altinum was burning and the sky 
along the Isthmian coast was blood-red with the dev- 
astation of human habitations ; when a new dwelling- 
place had to be carved out from the ooze and slime of 
the sands of the lagoons, so it has been ever since, 
something to inspire men's hearts to courage, men's 
brains to great thoughts and men's aspirations to lofty 
actions. Great nations and great peoples have sprung 
from close contact with the vastness, and from perpet- 
ual battle with the enforced commercialism, of the 
sea. High inspirations have been born amid the 
poetry and the dangers of the unknowable, eternal 
waters. Hence the Vikings and the Danes; hence the 
Angles, and after them England and Holland; hence 
the Venetian Republic, whose life of eleven hundred 
years was as remarkable as its end was pathetic. 



244 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Once upon a time, many years ago, I made my 
first afternoon's jaunt — it seems now such a little thing 
to do, but then it was an event in life — from the Vene- 
tian Piazzetta, by the rear of the Doge's palace, under 
the charming and melancholy Bridge of Sighs, by the 
Formosa church, out to the Fondamento (the border- 
land or border-sea of the City of Venice), and then, 
with two gondoliers, in gay sashes and with sharp, 
strong, even strokes, pushed on, like a navigator look- 
ing for the Indies, over the miles of glassy waste 
toward Torcello. I had seen the one fairest " Bride of 
the Sea," and she had come down to me as from heav- 
en. Some of her celestial beauty was gone, it is true; 
it could not have been otherwise: but there was so 
much of it left that I was in raptures from the earliest 
dawn of day to the latest hours of midnight. Who- 
ever has been to Venice knows or ought to know just 
what that means. And now I wished, before turning 
my face homeward to the prosier land of America, to 
see the original Bride — dear, careworn, almost eflfaced 
Torcello. Ruskin's apt phrase, " Mother and daugh- 
ter, . . . both in their widowhood — Torcello and 
Venice," had made it imperative upon me to see the 
" Mother," and so deeply attached did I become to this 
lonely " Mother," with her robes of royalty the salt 
marshes and her diadem the venerable Cathedral, that 
again and again since I have traveled the same track- 
less road and repeated that unique experience. But be- 
fore proceeding upon our way, let us look a little in- 
to the strange history of Torcello. 

Just a thousand and forty years before the eye of 
Columbus swept the palm trees on the island fringes 
of this New World, a sorrowful people fled from burn- 
ing homes, which had been located on the lowlands of 
the extreme north end of the Adriatic Sea since before 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 245 

the days of the first Caesar, and took shelter on those 
gro'ups of islands that now go to make up the lagoons. 
These lagoons, as they are called, on some of which 
so fair a city afterward built itself upon the sands, were 
not always as they are now. The great God who 
moulded the continents fashioned them as He has 
many of the smaller things in Nature, by the processes 
of centuries. The insweep of the Mediterranean, push- 
ing back with the might of a lion the sediment that 
came rushing from the Dolomites into the sea at the 
mouths of three rivers, each of them colossal in the 
winter and early spring, though insignificant in mid- 
summer, formed bars of sand just where the islands 
now are. The outermost reach, now known as the 
Lido, was the earliest permanent barrier set up by 
the sea; within it, one by one, there grew the islands, 
at first w^holly covered over with water at high tide 
and beds of slime at low tide. Nature robes her own 
children with garments whenever and wherever they 
come into being; even the rocks have their mosses, 
lichens and pines. And so these lagoons grew into 
marshfields, the birds sang in the tall rushes, there 
came up grasses and flowers, and every century there 
was more land and so more foundation for an impe- 
rial Republic. 

When the doom of the lowland cities was struck, 
there must have been only a few prehistoric fisher- 
men's hovels of mud, with rush-roofs, amid these la- 
goons. But the hour had come when Providence had 
a mission for the tiny islands and the people for 
the mission, and the two came together. That mission 
was the establishment of a civilization whose power 
could withstand even that of Byzantium and Genoa; a 
civilization which, considering its comparatively few 
cruelties, and, on the contrary^ the large ideas of 



246 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

world-power it fostered, the masters in art it encour- 
aged, and the palatial structures and religious temples 
it reared, was in many respects an anomaly in the 
earth. The men who came in, hounded and perse- 
cuted, from the shore and inland towns, were among 
the bravest of the brave; they were heroes modelled 
after those of old Troy. If you doubt this latter, read 
the accounts of their naval successes, and your faith 
will come to you again suddenly, like the bloom of 
the crocuses under the March sun, and it will be, as 
was their faith, radiant with holy beauty. Your eyes 
will sparkle if you have within you any elements of en- 
thusiasm for humanity, as you read how these simple- 
minded but not unlettered folk, with souls aflame, am- 
bitions rekindled and hope new-born, left Aquileia, 
Heraclea, Corcordia, Altinum, and even Patavium (in 
Italian, Padua), and the villages between, plunged 
out into the lonesomeness and despair of the few is- 
lands within sight, and began to build them a habitation 
and a home, even a country! Was there ever before so 
large a population that was pushed out into and upon 
the waters of the sea to die, that resolved as they did 
to live, accomplished their purpose and constructed an 
unconquerable RepubHc? A miniature RepubHc, true, 
but one whose fame, like the sea at its feet, encircled 
the globe. 

Torcello may or may not have preceded by a year 
or two the settlement on the island of the Rialto, af- 
terward to be known as Venice. It is unimportant. 
As we shall see in the next chapter, Venice was settled 
at first chiefly from Padua; Torcello's inhabitants came 
from Altinum and from the cities toward the east. The 
punishment on the people of the mainland to which I 
have alluded came in 452 A. D., as the Huns marched 
from east to west, from Aquileia, a full hundred miles 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 247 

to the east, a proud city of a hundred thousand in- 
habitants, near the present Trieste, through the cities I 
have named, to Padua, Verona and Milan. It was 
this barbaric march, marked by burning, plunder and 
massacre, to which Ruskin refers in his well-known 
description in the beginning of his second volume of 
the "Stones of Venice:" "Thirteen hundred years 
ago the gray moorland looked as it does this day, and 
the purple mountains stood as radiantly in the deep 
distances of evening; but on the line of the horizon 
there were strange fires mixed with the light of sun- 
set, and the lament of many human voices mixed with 
the fretting of the waves on their ridges of sand. The 
flames rose from the ruins of Altinum; the lament from 
the multitude of its people, seeking, like Israel of old, 
a refuge from the sword in the paths of the sea/' 

How Ruskinesque and exquisite, like unto the best 
pictures of Turner! 

There were probably 40,000 men, women and chil- 
dren, who fled from the avenging sword of Attila, to 
Torcello, Murano, Burano and kindred islands, includ- 
ing the Rialto, and there, without covering from the 
sun by day, or from the mists and chill at night, began 
to build up their curious municipii. Perhaps they 
did not soon call one of them a city; I doubt if they 
did. There were various islands, and the temptation 
was great to scatter among them and so give more 
room for bread-winning for the whole. They could 
fish, but they could also dig, for the soil was rich, and 
they could make salt. To this very day the soil of 
these lagoons is fertile, due, I presume, to the inter- 
mixture of alluvial deposits from the mountains with 
the sea's sands, to which decaying grasses and tamarisk 
for centuries have added fibre and virility. 

Altinum was on the mainland, and from it came 



248 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the first blood that made up the young hamlets on 
Torcello and its neighboring isles. These people came 
in as paupers, and yet were peers of any in what had 
been the Roman Empire. Beside the Christian relig- 
ion to a small degree — that w^as but in its infancy 
with them' — they brought along the principles of inde- 
pendence, and in consequence they were never en- 
slaved. The original names, which they gave to the 
islands where they sought a refuge — Torcellas, Maiur- 
bus, Boreana, Ammiana, Constantiacum — were taken 
from the city gates of Altinum. These names in Ital- 
ian became Torcello, Murano, Burano, Amiano and 
Costanziaco. With the tenderness of a mother for 
her children, it was not intended that there should ever 
be forgetfulness of the name of each babe in this be- 
reaved family. 

The largest and chiefest of these islands was Tor- 
cello; it was also in closest juxtaposition to the main- 
land. So that in this way Torcello, hamlet and then 
city, came to be. Dreary fiats and ominous solitudes 
at first, but henceforth to be " home." For a time, I 
doubt not, its people and the people on the Rialto 
were too busy drying nets and marketing salted fish 
to plan for great things. They had been com.mercially 
a wealthy and high-strung people. Now inexpressibly 
poor, they knew what it meant to struggle for daily 
bread. Back toward the distant shadows of the hills 
they could see the sites of their once opulent homes,, 
nevermore to be homes for them. Perhaps they hoped 
to return, but that hope melted like the snow crystals 
of April. How little they knew that at Torcello and 
thereabouts they were planting the germs of a new 
state, to rival in the number of centuries of endurance 
and in splendor of achievements most of the states of 
ancient or modem times! 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 249 

Two hundred years passed along, their history un- 
written, but, let us believe, full to bursting with human 
hopes, rising and crushed, with laughter by day and 
tears by night; and all the while the diverse elements 
of great character were being forged and welded into 
an heroic whole. The Roman blood coursing in their 
veins, intermixed with enough of the rugged strength 
of native elements from the foothills of the Alps, kept 
them allied to those central ideas of law and order, 
justice and equity, which had flowed in all directions 
from Eternal Rome; and so they started their separate 
towns, then cities, then a state, as if they were aiming 
to reproduce a City of the Caesars on the shores of the 
Adriatic. But they could not have thought so far 
ahead as this. 

I have said that they had the Christian religion to 
some extent when Attila crushed their former homes 
and temples as so many eggshells. Constantine the 
Great had been the Emperor of Southern Europe over 
a century before ; at a word he had fastened a new re- 
ligion on the Eastern and Western divisions of his Em- 
pire. He had seen the Sign of the Cross in the heav- 
ens and emblazoned it on his royal arms. Henceforth 
the Gospel was in constant conflict with paganism, 
and no corner of the Empire was beyond its influence. 
During, then, the first two hundred years of their ca- 
reer it must be those earnest fishermen, with the artifi- 
cers who grew up with them, had some Pauls to come 
and sympathize with them and beg them freshly to 
espouse the Gospel to and for the poor. I doubt it not, 
for, behold, the greatest historical event that ever got 
down into the records of Torcello now happened. It 
was in 641. That year the Lombards overran the 
north of Italy, and in consequence there came in from 
the mainland some new peoples; those who had still 

16 



250 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

lingered behind for six generations, hiding themselves 
from occasional persecutions as best they could. They 
knocked for admittance at the little water-gate of Tor- 
cello (as they did at the Rialto) and with a real Paul 
(Paulus, still called Bishop of Altinum) at their head; 
and they came with relics and some treasures. Then 
the town had become a strong municipality, and it de- 
cided at once to found a worthy temple to the Known 
God. The first founders could never have dreamed of 
so glorious an outcome to their centuries of mourning 
as a Cathedral, the finest manifestation possible in art 
of an altar-spot to Jehovah. 

One may suggest these men had no great archi- 
tects among them, no master workers in mosaics, no 
vast amount of money. Perhaps not. But they had 
the true grit, which is what produces masters in any 
place or age. They were of the same class of men who 
put feet on Plymouth Rock ; they knew how to devel- 
ope the best that was in them in that era. They were not 
uneducated. Roman civilization intermixed with 
Greek blood and culture had penetrated, indeed had, 
centuries before, founded Aquileia, Corcordia, Hera- 
clea, Opitergium, Altinum and Padua, which possessed 
schools, artisans, monuments to famous sculptors, re- 
finement. Men lived in Aquileia whom Virgil, Livy, 
Gallus, Nepos, Catulus and Pliny had publicly praised 
for their knowledge of letters. Padua was the largest 
city in northern Italy four centuries before this in- 
road of the barbarians, and later, when overruled by 
Venice, it had the greatest University in Italy. When 
such men of cultured and heroic ancestry were scat- 
tered to the mountains and into the sea, their monu- 
ments, vocations and homes destroyed, be sure they 
carried with them what they had in their heads and 
hearts. They began anew at the bottom rung of life's 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 251 

ladder ; who can doubt they would ascend ? Their de- 
scendants could do better, for they were to be richer 
in this world's goods. They could rebuild that temple, 
placing it over in Venice, naming it St. Mark's, and 
making it a gem for one's eyes to see and to wonder 
over even in this day. 

When this Cathedral was finished and dedicated, 
and the first bell calling to prayer rang quiveringly out 
over the moorlands, everyone knew that for years to 
come — until a more be jeweled bride came to wed 
more publicly the imperial sea; until Venice and the 
Adriatic clasped hands in espousals — Torcello would 
be the principal home of religion among all those dom- 
iciles in the lagoons. From that day the ecclesiasti- 
cal domination of all the lagoon outcasts centred in 
this Cathedral in Torcello. And almost as that Cathe- 
dral was then built, in 641, you may see it to-day, its 
alterations in no wise disfiguring the massive solem- 
nity and artistic grandeur of a very perfect and truly 
wonderful House of God! There is scarcely in Italy 
a more ancient cathedral, save the slightly earlier and, 
naturally, richer and more beautiful basilicas in Raven- 
na, the very early home of the Christian arts, and be- 
fore that time the capital of the Western Empire. The 
columns and altars of this Torcello edifice were 
brought, no doubt, from the home churches that had 
been destroyed; tradition says the people returned by 
their boats again and again to the mainland and 
brought whatever friezes, capitals and precious mar- 
bles they could with which to decorate their new house 
of worship. 

From the acorn the oak. God's little providences 
are usually men's grandest opportunities. 

And now let us go back again to the gondola that 
left the T^iayz/ tta in Venice and notice with more open 



252 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

eyes what we discern, as we are so noiselessly pushed 
along by the long oars of the gondoliers. Is there 
anything just like a gondola? No, but neither is 
there anything quite like the spot where the pulsations 
of several great rivers and the inflowing sea come to- 
gether behind the long sand-bar known as the Lido, 
and, neither acknowledging mastery to the other, 
quiet down like a babe in restful sleep. Only in 
such a place of perpetual peace could a gondola find 
its true habitat. The absolute stillness of the sur- 
roundings, the noiselessness of the spectral barge it- 
self, save the occasional plash of the gondolier's oar, 
make one wonder if he is on the earth or on some oth- 
er planet. 

We are hastening, now, in a direct line eight miles 
over the waste of waters. But not all a waste. Aside 
from the low guide-posts, which mark out the mar- 
iner's path, indicating where the water is less shallow 
than otherwise, and aside from the passers-by in all 
kinds of water-craft, chiefly of barges loaded with 
vegetables for the markets, there are various islands in 
view; you are never out of sight of all of them. On 
the right is the island of S. Michele, the cemetery of 
Venice. The dead must be buried there; there is no 
other place. It is an island surrounded by a high wall, 
sacred to those who sleep their last sleep. Lines of 
funeral gondolas with black flags are on their way to 
the place of interment and of mourning, almost every 
hour in the day. Next, to the left, Murano, whose 
settlement was doubtless of the same date as the other 
islands; once the wealthy suburb of Venice and also 
the home of the most noted glass factories in Italy. 
There are glass factories there still; factories which 
had been in Venice from the Sixth or Seventh Cen- 
tury, but were pushed off to Murano in the Four- 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 253 

teenth. Murano's best treasure, now, is the church of 
San Donato, of the Tenth Century, strangely Byzan- 
tine, rich in mosaics and pecuUarly unique on the ex- 
terior. Once of thirty thousand people, the population 
to-day is of less than five thousand. It has a so-called 
"Grand Canal," and many little ones. But on the 
whole it is an uninteresting manufacturing place, with 
many weed-grown wastes, and not a bit of charm in 
it save as its old stone houses have tumbled into decay. 

Now, after passing Burano, with its tall campanile, 
lace factories and homes of more than four thousand 
people, mostly fishermen, we are heading straight for 
that bit of forsaken marshland known as Torcello. 
Only a flat island, overgrown with tall salt weeds, hav- 
ing a single canal, which looks at first like the only 
inlet, fringed with a few alders, and here and there a 
solitary stone house. Strange that it alone of all 
those island cities should have utterly passed away. 
In truth the city has completely vanished; grasses and 
tall canes grow over it, covering all possible ruins of 
former homes, if any, perchance, exist. Just desola- 
tion! No, not wholly desolation. Here and there are 
patches of gardens, and amid the grasses are deli- 
cate wild flowers. It is never complete desolation 
where buttercups and daisies lift their fair young 
faces skyward and throw kisses to the sun. Those lit- 
tle emblems of God's love, like the few warblers that 
carol daily in the bushes, have remained to give a 
cheerful aspect to what otherwise is singularly sorrow- 
ful. 

As the gondoliers pushed up this tiny inlet I 
thought first of how much it resembled one of the 
small canals in the most uninhabited portions of Hol- 
land. And then I pondered over the great and strong 
men who once lived there and were contented and hap- 



254 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

py. Then there flashed over my mind the poetical 
story of the " three mute brown babes " about whom 
one of our American poets had sung, only a year or 
two before this first visit of mine, in his poem on " Tor- 
cello." I recalled perfectly these few of many verses : 

"How sweet the grasses at my feet, 
The smell of clover oversweet. 
I heard the hum of bees. The bloom 
Of clover-tops and cherry-trees 
Were being rifled by the bees, 
And these were building in a tomb. 



"A sun-browned woman, old and tall. 
And still as any shadow is, 
Stole out from out the mossy wall 
With massive keys, to show me this; 
Came slowly forth, and following 
Three birds, and all with drooping wing. 

"Three mute brown babes of hers, and they— 
O, they were beautiful as sleep, 
Or death, below the troubled deep. 
And on the pouting lips of these 
Red corals of the silent seas. 
Sweet birds, the everlasting seal 
Of silence that the God has set 
On this dead island sits for aye." 

Could I expect to see " clover," " bees," " cherry- 
trees," much less the " sun-browned woman " and the 
" babes " at Torcello, or were they founded on a poet's 
imagination? As I drew up to the Cathedral square, 
which was almost the only piece of cleared ground 
then visible on that part of the island, it seemed as if 
I had come suddenly upon civilization. There was 
close-shaven, velvety grass. There were shade-trees 
and a caretaker's stone house. But, outside, only 
marsh-lands and a desert. Someone seemed to toil 
to keep in order a memorial of past ages, just to 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 255 

honor the God of their fathers ! Magnificent reverence, 
this, for things past. The square was as neatly 
kept and beautiful as if that day a Venetian Doge 
himself were about to appear to attend a festival ser- 
vice. Amid the greensward white clover blossoms in- 
termingled and the busy bee was gathering honey. 
Up till now not a person had been visible. A place of 
infinite sadness because of inexpressible loneliness. 
Two churches there without a bishop, and having 
neither priest nor people. A watch-tower also, but 
without a watchman. Yet Bishop Paulus and his long 
line of godly successors were there, history states, 
from 641 to 1814, when at last, only the ecclesiastical 
edifices being left, and every inhabitant save a dozen 
or two having fled, the buildings were permanently 
abandoned to fate and to one caretaker. Think of the 
devotion exhibited to the principles of a self-sacrificing 
religion, for eight successive centuries, maintained long 
after all semblance of a population had vanished! 

While meditating on these things the caretaker's 
door opened, and out came the identical mother and 
her three babes, spoken of by the poet. As she stood 
there in the doorway, the very little one nestled close 
up to her; the others ran forward and helped to carry 
the massive keys, hoping, perchance, they might re- 
ceive a soldo from the stranger. They were " brown," 
but they were not " mute ! " Sweet and tender sight ; 
the children were just as joyous as the sunshine itself, 
which poured like gold out of the afternoon heavens. 
What did they know of loneliness when mother was 
near to caress and gather them under her wing? 

There are now two churches and one baptistery, also 
a watchtower, at Torcello. Each stands close by 
the other. The one church, S. Fosca, probably dates 
from 1008, but I judge the baptistery must be almost 



256 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

as old as the Cathedral. For all practical purposes 
both S. Fosca and the baptistery, perfectly preserved 
and interesting buildings, are venerable enough. But 
the other church, the Cathedral, dedicated to St. Mary, 
wherein are the Bishop's throne and the curious seats 
in rows, one above the other (of " the four and twenty 
elders" as some have stated it, really for the priests or 
presbyters, whose number would vary), is to all intent 
the very same that the Bishop of Altinum set up within 
this edifice in the Seventh Century. 

The Cathedral within was all sunlight; great floods 
of it burst in through the large windows and irradiated 
every archivolt, pillar and capital. In this respect it 
is unlike nearly any other ancient cathedral. The sun 
brought out, too, with charming detail, the startling 
mosaics on the ends walls. These are so majestic, the 
impression they make upon you is so intense, that 
religious awe takes possession of your whole frame. 
Christ, the Virgin and the Apostles at the one end; 
Christ coming to Judgment at the other: those are the 
subjects; the beginning of Christianity, the end of 
the world. At this first visit I found some of the 
mosaics were dropping out and the children were of- 
fering them for sale to strangers. There are other 
curious things in this Cathedral — the delicately carved 
pulpit and its staircase, for example; but the reader 
must look over Chapter. I of the first volume of Ruskin's 
*' Stones of Venice " to learn of them. 

Of course I then ascended the Campanile, put there 
later, say between the years looo and iioo, and looked 
off on the wide extent of seascape. The old door 
was first unlocked; the steps that go round and round 
a circle were then climbed ; and at a hundred feet from 
the ground I found myself sniffing the salt air of the 
lagoons again. It comes over you all at once that 



TORCELLO—" MOTHER OF VENICE" 257 

while the tower stands — and you hope it will stand 
forever! — somebody could, if he would, enjoy on every 
single day from this crooning nest a spectacle rare in 
this world, and full of singular emotions; a spectacle 
of water, towers, sailboats, sunrises, sunsets : yet no 
one sees them from week to week, or month to month, 
save an occasional tourist. Exactly beneath are the 
churches, the baptistery and the museum (a small build- 
ing which I had omitted to mention) ; they are hud- 
dled up close together as kine frightened by an ap- 
proaching storm, as if the builders builded when in 
dire distress and sought comfort from proximity. Be- 
side that greensward before these structures is the so- 
called marble " throne of Attila," a misnomer of 
course, for want of a better designation. It is the seat 
— located elsewhere, originally, but doubtless then as 
now under the blue sky — where the early Tribunes sat 
and held their court. 

So much for what is left of the earUer ages. Save 
the few desultory, single-story houses along the tiny 
inlet by which I entered this square, the only other 
signs of life on the whole island were some straggling 
cattle, and a few reapers gathering salt hay. Here and 
there were some wee patches of Indian corn as if out 
of place. The fresh salt breeze brought up to the ear 
the sound of the sharpening of sickles, and of the 
voices of reapers. Otherwise only sea and desert. Here 
were peoples, homes, loves, marriages, deaths, laugh- 
ter, tears, battles, centuries before Alfred the Great 
ruled Britain ; and scarcely a handful of mementoes re- 
main. 

Let us look again from the watch-tower and look 
away from this desert island. What a waste of waters ; 
as smooth as glass, not a ripple upon their surface. A 
yellowish, because shallow, sea. How the seaweeds 



258 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

bend, as if weeping, o'er a score of barren islets ! Here 
and there are seabirds looking listlessly about for food. 
To the southwest, see the towers of Burano, of Mu- 
rano, and, far in the distance, of sweet and lovely Ven- 
ice. To the north, the Dolomite Alps ; the land where 
Titian was born, where he saw the Sinai and the Bush 
that kindled his genius into flame. Occasionally a 
bell sounds like a wailing voice of prayer. From this 
point on the Campanile, perhaps, the sun will go 
down directly over Venice, and seem to set that city 
on fire. How much I should have delighted to have 
remained and viewed that panorama of, first, the gold- 
en sheen, and then the unrolling of blood-red ban- 
ners, beyond all those campaniles and domes of that 
marvelous city. I did see that sight when approach- 
ing Venice on the return, but not from such a vantage 
ground as the watch-tower of dear, forlorn Torcello ! 



XV.— ''THE BRIDE OF THE SEA/' 

ON THE WAY back to the city of Venice e^^ery- 
thing seemed changed. Evening was ap- 
proaching. More boats were returning from 
the Venetian markets; every tint of sail and every 
shape of canvas, the commonest-looking the embodi- 
ment of grace, met and passed us. The shallow wa- 
ters, which are usually of a Nile green, tended toward 
grayish blue, and across them in the direction of the 
setting sun there was a broad band of deepest yellow. 
There were lovers on their way to their homes, hold- 
ing each other's hands in the gondolas, with none to 
molest or make them afraid. There were the same 
long, crooked pathways of piles that mark out the 
courses of the deeper water in different directions 
toward Mestre, toward Murano, toward Port S. Ni- 
colo. We passed fruit barges, hay barges, barges 
loaded to the brim with tomatoes, cabbages and the 
other vegetables of the season. Old men, occasionally 
women, or boys, were propelling them, wearing coats 
or dresses of many colors and divers patches galore. 
There were clouds in the west, gold-lined, the sun be- 
hind them illuminating the ermine and transfiguring 
it into ethereal beauty. 

A half hour longer and the sun set just over Ven- 
ice. What a sunset ! Everything flamed red, as if the 
whole western heavens were on fire. 

Hark, the evening bells from the campaniles on 
semi-deserted islands ; the same delightful harmonies 
that have tolled out vesper prayers ever since these 



260 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

lagoons were inhabited. Still yellow and brown and 
white lateen sails, but they are dusky spectres, for 
the night draws on apace. What inexpressible stillness I 
The vespers have ceased; the twilight is a reality. Now 
a cool breeze has sprung up from the sea, intoxicating, 
full of ozone, yet so balmy withal that one feels it 
would be a privilege to fall asleep and to sleep on for- 
ever. Here is the Fondamento at last; then the 
crooked canal, the electric lights, the inky corners, the 
'' statu '' of the passing gondoHer, the guitar, the emp- 
ty melon barges starting back to the lone islands, the 
curious stone bridges, and then the Grand Canal. 

Dear Venice, who can but love thee! Was ever 
an expression of the heart more true than that made 
by the poet who transliterated the words of the tor- 
tured son of the Doge Foscari into verse? It was Ja- 
copo Foscari, who declared he returned from the dis- 
tant province to which he had been banished, to Ven- 
ice and to unmentionable cruelties, " feeling it would 
be worth while to undergo torture a third time to 
breathe once more the same air with his parents, his 
wife and his children :" 

"My beautiful, my own, 
My only Venice! — ^this is breath!" 

Surely the world in its day did not have its like; the 
world in this day does not have its like. Roam where 
one will, breathe what air one may, when you desire 
to enjoy a few days or weeks free from all care, from 
all noise, from every burden, go to Venice. If your 
soul knows not only the beautiful but the really pic- 
turesque, this is your ideal. Here you may imagine 
your dreamed-of paradise by day, and view it in fuller 
glories by night, where every prospect will please and 
none disappoint. When the evening lights are on, and the 
music, and the full moon, and myriads of gondolas go 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 261 

Up and down the canals in startling silence, you will 
understand how Venice alone is the imperial cen- 
tre of whatever is bright and bewitching. I am aware 
that some travelers have not liked this city, but they 
are the few. The Huns did not care for Rome except 
to destroy it. 

I have said in the previous chapter that Venice 
dated from about the same period as Torcello. The 
latter in its beginnings ecHpsed Venice by having the 
first cathedral and the first bishop, and was the only 
ecclesiastical seat for several centuries. Why Venice 
soon became the larger city is plain enough. It had 
room for growth. Torcello could hold several thou- 
sand people; Venice was builded on a better site, on 
a conglomeration of one hundred and seventeen is- 
lands, so close together as to be almost one, and could 
contain, as it eventually did, two hundred thousand 
persons. Venice, too, had better means of security; 
its natural position Vv^as stronger. In time it developed 
stronger men than were at Torcello, and so became 
great while Torcello dwindled. 

It is almost surprising to learn of the sturdy char- 
acter of many of the early settlers of the lagoons. De- 
scended from a race which, in the days of Pliny and 
Virgil, were renowned for their attention to letters, 
they had among them- those who would in Athens 
have adorned Athens and in Rome have honored 
Rome. But they had first to begin life at the very be- 
ginning ; to delve and build ; to make salt ; to catch and 
dry fish; and afterward to grow expert in navigation. 
As soon as the regions of the Rialto became the fo- 
cus for merchandising, and commerce spread its wings 
to far-away shores, mud huts gave way to stone build- 
ings. These were erected on piles brought from the 
foothills of the Alps. They were usually of white 



262 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

poplar, and are there to-day, most of them as sound 
as the year they were hammered deep into the sand. 
It is only because here and there some have yielded to 
the great weight which the heavy palaces had put on 
them, that these palaces are sometimes toppling toward 
ruin. The piles of the overthrown Campanile were a 
full thousand years old, and not one of those examined 
in 1902 was found to be unsound. 

The first Doge who governed all the islands was 
installed in office in 697, on the mainland, at rebuilt 
Heraclea, a city now totally extinct, even as to its 
site. Forty-five years later a Doge was elected from 
a nearby large island, Malamocco. In 809 all the is- 
lands repulsed an attack by King Pepin, son of 
Charlemagne. By this time Venice was looming up 
into real power and began to prepare for its after-glo- 
ries. It had not only achieved full independence as a 
municipality, but it had united the free neighboring 
islands into a new and powerful confederation with it- 
self. For a while the Doges continued to rule from 
the one island of Malamocco, five miles distant, but 
this did not suit the growing pride and temper of the 
Venetians. They wished to transfer the pomp of state 
to the Rialto. Consequently Doge Agnello, in 811, 
was installed there and began to build a Ducal Palace, 
where the present one stands. 

Soon after this, in 829, a Venetian fleet brought the 
body of the Evangelist Mark from Alexandria, or 
claimed they did. This act gave the Winged Lion of 
^t= Mark preference as the patron saint over St. Theo- 
dore. It also gave in after years the excuse for the 
construction, upon the site of the church erected to 
contain the saint's body, (which edifice had burned 
down in 976), of one of the most beautiful edifices ever 
erected by man to the worship of his Maker. The 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 263 

iirst St. Mark's had been plain and was built of brick 
in basilica form. From that date until the Fifteenth 
Century not a decade, probably, but witnessed added 
glories to the wonderful new creation, and also to the 
adjoining Ducal Palace. 

The Doge Orso (864-881) had improved Venice 
by building palaces and reclaiming soil for its growth, 
and he was about the only Doge thoroughly loved 
by everybody through all his reign and entirely happy 
in his authority. In his day began the period when 
the city grew rich. Out of two hundred years 
of poverty there emerged plenty, and with it pride, 
and with it an aristocracy, and with it the power for 
great acquisitions, and, of course, there came a fall. 
But there were to be six hundred years before it 
touched the zenith of glory, and three hundred years 
more of decadence, and then a loss of all its heritage, 
save of such portions of its transcendent charms as 
even yet stand out so rich in their desolation. 

In the year 997 a somewhat broad conquest was 
made by Venice of outside territory. Before then va- 
rious expeditions had gone out and exploited Venetian 
valor, but now came a rare chance to show that the 
Republic had two hundred armed galleys and great 
fighting qualities. Duke Orseolo was reigning. He 
had built up a marine of daring proportions and 
manned the vessels with heroic crews. He led forth 
in person the new navy. He clearly foresaw that naval 
suprem.acy meant everything for Venezia; it could 
never hope to conquer by land. The test was brought 
about by Dalmatia — a country north of Greece, 
which had been in Augustus Caesar's day so strong 
that it gave him immense trouble to subdue it — im- 
ploring the Doge's aid against the pirates. Doge Or- 
seolo went to Dalmatia, conquered the strong fortress- 



264 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

es of the pirates, in addition annexed a small island 
or two to his domains, and so became and was called 
the " Doge of Venice and Dalmatia." From that 
decade Venice began to feel the strength of its power. 

When Ascension Day was at hand in the year 
looo, the fitness of a grand ceremony to commemo- 
rate the chief victory over the pirates appealed to alL 
The Doge had sailed away on Ascension day: so As- 
cension day was chosen for the ceremony of the Bu- 
centaur, known as ** The Espousing of the Sea." Can 
you not imagine the thrill of the populace and the 
pride of even little children in this great munici- 
pality, as the procession went out from the Piazzetta 
to the Lido, and through its northerly gate to the 
sea, to witness the first espousal ? A full history of that 
celebration has not been preserved to us, but in after 
years we know it was as follows : 

An elaborate barge, the Bucentaur, with its 
two decks, the uppermost covered with crimson velvet 
and gold, having ninety seats; with dignitaries galore 
under the glittering canopy; with the Doge's throne 
at one end and a small window near it fromi which he 
was to throw the ring into the sea; with rowers, one 
hundred and sixty-eight in number, on the lowermost 
deck; with double-beaked prow, covered with carved 
ornaments and allegories, — led the way out to the Lido,, 
followed by myriads of small gondolas and barges; 
and there, in the open sea, where the Adriatic is always 
so " deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," met the bishop's 
barge, covered -vsdth cloth of gold, on which were all 
the bishops, prelates and priests. Here the ceremony 
was performed. " We wed thee, O Sea, in token of 
true and lasting dominion," exclaimed the Doge, as 
he cast his ring into the sea; and the people shouted, 
banners were flung to the breeze, and music and song 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 265 

filled the air. The celebration then closed, but only to 
be taken up for the rest of the day and evening on the 
Grand Canal. You can have some faint idea of what 
this festival, continued for hundreds of years, was, if 
you can once be in Venice now on a genuine fete day, 
say when some great feast like that of Corpus Christi 
occurs. The colors in dress and sashes, the gay gon- 
dolas, the barges loaded with flowers, the decorated 
palaces, make a sight Asiatically picturesque and yet 
purely Venetian. 

So much for the early history of Venice, which is 
quite sufficient for present purposes. What now of 
the Venice of the Twentieth Century? 

To-day, if you would see Venice aright, you must 
enter it for the first time aright. It makes a world of 
difference how you first view it as to the chords of 
harmony that will vibrate in your psychological make- 
up. On a dull day the finest Alpine scenery is tame. 
Much more so Venice. It is a pearl of the sunlight. 
The warmth of its stone colorings, the glow and glit- 
ter of its mosaics, the dehcate curves and traceries of 
its art of the Renaissance, the exquisite sparkle of its 
waters, cannot possibly be seen when the skies are 
leaden, or Nature is getting ready to weep. As well 
visit Paradise amid the stress of an Arctic winter. Yet 
there are gains as well as losses if you are first pro- 
pelled up that Grand Canal in the early evening, when 
the moon is full, or when myriad artificial lights glim- 
mer from lampposts and crafts, and when there is 
sound of revelrous music in the air. I once entered it 
by the sea, from the port of Alexandria; entered it 
just after sunrise. As we broke through between the 
slim barriers of the Lido, and came up before the Pub- 
lic Gardens, the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, the 
Ducal Palace and Piazzetta, the domes of St. Mark's 



266 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

and the Campanile, the Dogana and the Santa 
Maria della Salute, there was a panorama of color as 
rare as it was enchanting. Even Cairo, from which I 
had just come, with all its manifold Orientalisms, satis- 
fied me less than this Venice, with its peculiar show of 
aristocratic pride inwardly humbled, but to outward ap- 
pearances still haughty. From this vantage-ground, 
under the clear morning heavens, one takes m at a 
glance many of the great things which once made this 
selfsame spot the most beautiful city of the ages, and a 
dream of poets and artists. 

But, more than likely, you will come in at the 
railway station. You will cross in the steam carriage 
one of the largest bridges in the world, sniff the salt 
air as you proceed, and see, rising up out of the waters, 
towers and domes, and all around the little islands of 
the lagoons, inhabited and uninhabited. You will feel 
strange and a-shiver with the approach of elfin-ghosts, 
and the spectres of murdered Doges ; and then will fol- 
low the ecstacy growing out of strange emotions 
that cannot be defined, but that send the heart up to 
the throat and moisten the eye. For the traveler is 
now nearing a goal, and such a goal! Fourteen cen- 
turies of history wrapped up in it, and all of them, 
save the last two, such of which any Republic might 
be proud. 

You will get out at the railway station ; porters will 
carry your luggage. You will see no water, for all is 
terra Hrrna. Suddenly you are pushed through a large 
doorway, and stand face to face with the real " Bride of 
the Sea ! " You will discern no roads, horses, 
cabs, nor carriages; no dust; no trees; no grass; no 
sidewalks (there are sidewalks, but you do not observe 
them) ; no push-carts ; no newsboys ; no shops ; no chil- 
dren, save here and there one diving in the water to 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 267 

you '^f feis sun-browned body. At once it appeals to 
Everywhere trenW?/!, and yet scarcely a land at all. 
ings rising out of it, appafeim^ring water, with build- 
cept a placid sea. The cry of the golrvirndations ex- 
pass one another — none of them sing; it wouiu ^^y 
as if everyone in Venice can sing except a gondolier — 
and the lapping of the gentle tidal waves against the 
many colored piles in front of the buildings, which 
are " hitching posts " for the gondolas, are all the 
noises you will hear as you are pushed down that Canal. 
It is the silence of sleep; can it be the placidity of 
death? Stay now close to the windings of the Grand 
Canal, even though it take you longer to reach your 
destined haven. 

What power moves, what sprite impels, as you 
glide along, past curious, old, vine-covered corner 
walls; by palaces that once were inhabited, but now 
are vacant and crumbling, each one bearing with- 
in the frescoes of some great artist, perhaps a Tiepolo, 
perhaps a Palma — frescoes that may be faded, but 
are still possessed of inextinguishable beauty; 
around unexpected turns, where you should meet 
the ghosts of dead Contarinis or Dandolas, but see 
only quivering lights and dark shadows; by seeming 
prisons, without prisoners; by untenanted shops of 
former artificers, said to be haunted; by a bit of gar- 
den, where once a poet dwelt, or an artist, whose 
name comes up unbidden; by the spot where Rich- 
ard Wagner lay down for his last sleep, with who 
knows how many unuttered harmonies in his soul; by 
the handsome palace of the Pesaro who was the ar- 
chitect of that transcendent bit of church architecture 
in Venice, the Santa Marie della Salute; by the " Rus- 
kin charm," known as the palace Ca' d'Oro, otherwise 



268 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

called " The Gilded House." Now yoJW. ^ffsions of the 
lock lived, close to the "BiTi'Age of the Republic of 
halcvon days ots commercial supremacy was recog- 
Yf.r^'^jy all the world, float in upon the mind as you 
move along in almost perfect stillness past the Rialto, 
with its curious shops ; and then by the palaces of 
Marini, Bembo, Dandolaand Loredan; by the former 
home of Henry Layard, who uncovered Nineveh; by 
Byron's abode, where he wrote a part of his " Don 
Juan," and also ** Sardanapalus " and " Beppo," and 
where Tom Moore came to visit Lim. Amid continu- 
ing beauty, you see on the right the plain brick front 
that disguises the Academy of Fine Arts, one of the 
treasure-houses of great paintings, where Titian's 
masterpieces, and Bellini's too, and the opulent draw- 
ings of heroic figures by Paul Veronese, are kept. One 
look at that Titian's "Assumption," and how all other 
Assumptions pale into nothingness! Now you look 
full into the fair, grand front of the Rezzonico, home 
of Browning, still the property of his son, on whose 
v/alls, on a square of marble, may be read those tender 
lines : 

"Open my heart, and you will see 
Graved inside of it, 'Italy'." 

And soon the House of Desdemona, and the former 
Giustinian palace, where George Eliot once lived. 
Then the lordly domed Church of the Salute, the Cus- 
tom House, the Royal Garden and the Ducal Palace ! 

Is it a dream or is it not a dream? Alas, it is a 
dream, for the actual, living spirit of all these exqui- 
site creations of the Renaissance has departed. Yet 
it is not a dream, for Venice is still a reality to be 
loved. All the dearer now are those battered, crumb- 
ling walls, because each facade mirrors to the mind 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 269 

what was behind it : a history, a tragedy, the song of 
a singer, the passionate tale of an artist's brush ; may- 
be the aspirations of an heroic soul or two, who braved 
death for country, or who sought the sweet things of 
this life just because his soul longed after them. Pietro 
Orseolo, the Giustinian family, Mocenigo, Francesco 
Foscari and others of the Doges; Tintoretto and 
the two Bellinis, Titian and Paul Veronese, Carpaccio 
and Giorgione, Palma and Bassano, of the artists, and 
a host of famous leaders of smaller ilk, may not appear 
in the real flesh, but they are transcendently present 
everywhere in the spirit, hovering in and around the 
sculos, the loggias, the palaces. Without them, their 
treasures, their arms, their talents, their inspirations, 
what the world of art would have lost ; with them, how 
rich is Venice and all Italy! 

This is one picture: an arrival picture, and I have 
painted it in colors all too pale, or you are neither 
poet, nor idealist, nor dreamer, nor a lover of the 
charming. The next color scene you will take in will 
exceed this, at least in details of picturesqueness. By 
pursuing one or another narrow alley, lined with pret- 
ty shops, you are likely to reach suddenly, without 
warning, the cor cordiiim of Venice, the Piazza of San 
Marco. Whether it be in the evening, when myriad 
lamps set the huge square ablaze with light, when 
every shop window looks like a palace of Aladdin, 
and when music and ices, well-dressed men and wom- 
en by thousands, and everything that is attractively 
human, are there ; or whether it be in the daytime, pref- 
erably at two-thirty in the afternoon, when the blaze 
of the descending sun full on its front makes a Mos- 
cow of the Cathedral, there is a brilliancy, a dazzle, a 
bewildering gorgeousness about the whole display 
that startles and enraptures you. It is so much more 



270 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

than you anticipated! It is so palatial on every hand! 
The Palace of the King ; the similarly constructed Pro- 
curatie Vecchie; the clock tower, gleaming with blue 
and gold, on which the bronze giants strike the hours; 
St. Mark's; the people; if in daytime the pigeons, 
which have been there without a break in their daily 
habits of gregariousness and domesticity since the 
year 877, make up a rqarvelous ensemble, radiant with 
splendors. Those ancient mosaics of real gold; those 
glittering stars on a blue field; the divers colored and 
exquisitely rich marbles from all quarters of Africa 
and Asia; those lordly bronze horses of Nero, perhaps 
of the days of the Greeks of Chios ; the many domes 
and turrets, canopies and angels; traceries the most 
delicate ; the elaborate balustrades ; the bannered staffs 
in front ; then, at the side, the Piazzetta, with the Lion 
of St. Mark, and with St. Theodore and the Crocodile, 
and the Ducal Palace ; could only that famous and gar- 
rulous Venetian traveler, Marco Polo, have seen all 
these works completed when, in 1296, he returned from 
the Indies, would he have exclaimed over the won- 
ders of Cathay more than at the startling doings 
of his countrymen ! To me any first view of St. Peter's 
or of St. Paul's, any outlook upon the battlemented 
fortress of Edinburgh or of cannon-sown Gibraltar, 
even the wonderful spectacle of Moscow from Spar- 
row Hill — and that is almost ethereal — is not compar- 
able with a view of St. Mark's Square under the full 
blaze of the afternoon sun. For in this unique spot 
(at least until 1902) everything has remained as 
perfect as it came from the hands of the master build- 
ers, while the Athenic Parthenon and Temple of Jupi- 
ter, the Roman Colosseum and the Forum, are the 
merest shadows of what they were. 

I have alluded to the Piazza of San Marco as being. 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 271 

till recently, perfect from the hands of the master ar- 
tists. Alas ! the one tall, lordly Campanile is not there. 
When that fell it broke the heart of every Vene- 
tian, aged or young. I was in Venice at the time, and 
count it one of my good fortunes — though it might 
have been a singular misfortune — that I sat near 
its base, and heard the last piece of music played 
before it, the night preceding that terrible disaster. 
It was on Sunday evening, the thirteenth of July, 1902, 
There was nothing in the conversation or appearance 
of the people to indicate the unusual, although the 
music suddenly ceased and the band left before it had 
more than half finished its announced program. We 
knew afterward — on the next day, when the crash had 
come — that the band had been asked to quit the spot, 
for a crack discovered in the tower was widening and 
was dangerous. No one else seemed to know of it or 
to care, for the people talked and sauntered and iced 
as heretofore. They did not realize their danger. Next 
morning, soon after ten o'clock, there was a fall: and 
such a fall ! The citizens felt as the men of ancient 
Ephesus must have felt when their Temple of Diana 
Vs^as overthrown by an earthquake. If there was any 
one treasure which the city valued, it was their great 
Campanile. It had pointed its summit toward the 
everlasting heavens and the beckoning stars for a 
thousand years, and no native dreamed it could be less 
immortal than were the gods of Greece to the old 
Athenians. It was the tallest tower of Venice, the 
most venerable, the most graceful. No one since the 
days of the Doge Domenico Morosini, under whose 
reign in the Twelfth Century it had been substan- 
tially completed, had entered or left this phantom city 
without having fastened in his memory, as a wondrous 
picture, the marvelous Duomo, the Ducal Palace, the 



272 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Square, and the Piazzetta, and then that superb, grace- 
ful and lofty watchtower three hundred and twenty- 
two feet in height. Venice without its chief Campanile 
now looks like a Samson shorn of his locks, a Venus 
de Milo without her arms, Rome without its Colos- 
seum. 

But to return to the account of the catastrophe 
from my own experience concerning it. I had been 
to visit the Browning Palace, and was on the way to 
the Rialto when the collapse came. To those in or 
near the Piazza of San Marco there was first a rum- 
bling, then a continuous crash as of thunder, then a 
cloud of white dust, and all was over. I heard no sound, 
though perhaps only a quarter-mile away, but, on 
reaching the Rialto, men, women and children were 
hurrying over the bridge as if frantic. Inquiry as to 
the cause met with the laconic response : " The Cam- 
panile has fallen!" It seemed beyond belief. Why 
should it fall? As well might the sea open and let 
down into it the whole city. But there could be no 
mistake, at least in the popular belief. There were 
pale faces, blanched cheeks, hurried exclamations of 
sorrow, while more and more men and women pushed 
and jostled each other over the Rialto and down to the 
Merceria, the chief footway to the Piazza. As soon as 
possible some friends, who were with me, were sum- 
moned together and a retreat ordered. We must make 
the Piazza quickly; our gondoliers were told to hasten 
by the shortest cut. 

Arriving behind the Doge's Palace, crowds of peo- 
ple were visible. We could not land there, so we pro- 
ceeded to the Piazzetta. Another enormous crowd, be- 
hind which lay the ruins of what was no more beauti- 
ful, and no more in existence. A heap of rubbish, 
white as a bed of salt, because covered with pulver- 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 273 

ized cement, lay there, some thirty feet in height — ■ 
and that was all. The mighty had indeed fallen; the 
giant was prone. I shall never forget that picture: 
the mound glittering in the sunlight, the crowds, the 
look of despair on every face, the constrained silence 
as at a sepulchre. Getting into the Square itself a lit- 
tle later, the pavement everywhere looked as if snow 
had fallen. By that time a board fence had been hasti- 
ly constructed about the ruins, and curious people 
peeped at the rubbish through the fence or over it. 
The pigeons were absent (they had fled, it is said, to 
other portions of the city in terror); the shops were 
closed, as if the funeral of some old Doge were being 
celebrated; yet crowds were everywhere. It is said 
that descendants of the Venetian nobles shed tears as 
they looked upon the pathetic scene. This I can be- 
lieve, while not being a witness to it. 

That old Campanile had so much history wrapped 
up in it that one cannot wonder its downfall caused 
consternation and regret wherever civilized travelers 
heard of its destruction. Begun in 888, with bricks of 
Roman age brought from various earlier settlements, 
practically finished in 1056, really in about 11 50, and 
still more perfectly finished exactly as all moderns had 
viewed it, with a top in the Renaissance style, in 15 10, 
it showed no traces of its slow evolutions to the one 
remarkable, picturesque, perfect and noble tower, that 
dominated the lagoons. How often I had been on 
top of it and enjoyed the beauteous view of the sea, 
the Lido, S. Michele, Murano, Burano, Torcello, 
the long bridge to Mestre, the Euganean Hills, the 
heights of Istria, the snow-clad Alps! Sunset from its 
summit was a glory which, visible once, was never to 
pass away from memory. 

One year after the fall I visited the city and 



274 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

found that a higher board fence had been erected ; new 
foundations had been constructed; the rubbish had 
been carted out to sea; the shops were as brilHant as 
ever ; Hf e was going on as before. Yet there was omi- 
nous silence when I asked if the new Campanile 
subscribed to by nearly the whole world would ever 
arise and bring back the former scene. It was a sad 
tale that was told, of how the Emperor and the pres- 
ent Pope (then Cardinal Sarto), and a host of local 
dignitaries, had been present at the laying of the new 
corner-stone ; how architects had afterward disagreed ; 
how jealousies had crept in; how doubts of the foun- 
dation had again arisen, and how all labor on founda- 
tion or tower had ceased. 

No one must expect to find in the Venice of to-day 
the Venice of yesterday. But she is still, in a unique 
way, a " Bride of the Sea ; " she still possesses charms 
to the poetic eye in every winding of her canals and in 
ever>' decaying palace. Every year brings her into 
more poverty; the lapping of the tide against her 
pilings is, as it were, the music of her requiem ; her pa- 
latial homes are more and more deserted; her grass- 
grown squares are more and more silent ; not a new 
building is being erected. Nevertheless, in her poverty 
as in her glory, she remains a city of enchantments. 
The procession of the Doges ; the " Espousals of the 
Republic and the Sea;" the tournaments in the Square 
of St. Mark's, with Petrarch and others interested 
spectators ; tragedies like those of the " Moor of Ven- 
ice ;" the bequests of fortunes of half a million of duc- 
ats to carry on campaigns with the Pisan or Genoese 
Republics; shipbuilding in yards that employed thou- 
sands of skilled workmen: in a word, all her old-time 
pomp of greatness and pride of power have gone for- 
ever. One must go back to former ages to realize the 



" THE BRIDE OF THE SEA " 275 

actual existence and the intense vitality of a people 
cradled in water, whose every architecture was an 
idyl, whose domestic songs were of love and hope,, 
at whose word other nations of the earth trembled, 
and whose permanent collapse as a Republic, after 
exactly eleven hundred years of vigorous life, was 
due not more to unreasonable ambition and to the 
want of great leaders than to circumstances in the 
general world's affairs wholly beyond her control. The 
discovery of America by other nations ; the develop- 
ment of great military leaders like Napoleon ; the pow- 
er (in numbers alone) of their deadliest enemies, the 
Turks, and other Providential causes : all these com- 
bined to pull down one of the fairest and brightest, 
most plucky and most successful, of all the independ- 
ent states of the earth. 

Sweet Venice ! You are and will be a golden treas- 
ure-house for all who are weary and need repose, or 
who love the m.agic of an enchanter's wand. Lord By- 
ron expressed the gravitations of the natural human 
heart, as well as of his own soul, toward such a peren- 
nial magnet, when he penned in his " Childe Harold " 
those oft-quoted Hues, which have appealed to thou- 
sands of travelers since his day : 

"I loved her from my boyhood; she to me 
Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
Rising like water-columns from the sea. 
Of joy the sojourn and of wealth the mart; 
And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare's art, 
Had stamped her image in me; and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we did not part; 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe 
Than when she v/as a boast, a marvel and a show." 



XVI.— THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900. 

USUALLY THE cool uplands south of Munich 
would not be placed in the category of " Sun- 
ny Lands," for they are subject to all the va- 
rieties of a mountainous climate, from extreme, though 
clear, cold to plenty of clouds and dampness. Yet 
they are so near the divide between northern and 
southern Europe, and are so accessible from the Adri- 
atic, that I think I shall be forgiven if a visit to " The 
Passion Play of 1900 " is incorporated in this volume; 
especially as I saw this wonderful production twice 
under absolutely pellucid skies and the brightest of 
sunshine. Besides, the Play made a tremendous im- 
pression upon me. Perhaps on "the palimpsest of mem^- 
ory" — as one of our home poets calls it — nothing of a 
serious character growing out of travels in foreign 
lands is so deeply and perm.anently engraved, as the 
faces, deportment and song of those thoughtfully re- 
ligious villagers of Oberammergau, who acted the 
parts of Christ and John, of Peter and Judas, of Mary 
and *' the other women," of Pilate and Caiaphas, in 
that tragic drama of the Passion, in the sweetest of 
Bavarian valleys. 

The subject, as everyone knows, is the most beau- 
tiful story of history, whose Supreme Character was 
as faultless and natural as the purest snow of the Alps. 
Its treatment at the hands of those Oberammergau 
peasants, amid actual mountain scenery for a back- 
ground, was so reverent and so true, embodying such 
high ideals of humanity, that it became before my 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 277 

eyes a type of the highest genius, the loftiest reHg- 
ion and the hoHest soul-Hfe. In the possession of a 
handful of plain village people, there seemed to be a 
key to unlock the one most prodigious of Mysteries, 
the one most stupendous of Sorrows. That key was 
childlike, inaustere, uncritical and boundless Faith. 

The story of the centuries-old enactment of the 
Play is of profound interest; yet, if it were rendered 
less efficiently and less beautifully, few would care 
about its origin. How far its beginnings may be ac- 
curately told, I do not pretend to say, but the story is 
at least correctly stated that in 1633, when the villagers 
were stricken with the plague, and in thirty-three days 
eighty-four persons had died, there was a solemn as- 
sembly held, doubtless in the village church, and a 
vow recorded, that if the hand of the good Lord would 
stay the progress of Death, all the people would per. 
form a Passion tragedy. " From that time on," says 
an ancient narrator, " although a number of persons 
were suffering, not one more died of the plague." 
The Play was certainly performed the very next year 
(in 1634), and we are told that its production on the 
even tenth year of the calendar dates from 1680. Some 
too curious historians have endeavored to overturn 
the inference from the story that the Play thus origi- 
nated. They declare that in nearby towns it was well- 
known previously, and that it only gradually became a 
permanent institution in Oberammergau about the 
third decade of the Seventeenth Century. Probably 
the historians are correct in that the Play was not un- 
known to the villagers, but that when they suffered 
from the plague, and by prayer or vows had witnessed 
its cessation, they took that opportunity to incorporate 
in their village customs a performance of the greatest 
of sacred dramas, which they had seen elsewhere. As 



278 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

a matter of fact it had been enacted in other parts of 
Germany, centuries earlier. 

And it must not be supposed that the drama en^ 
acted every ten years with regularity since the latter 
part of the Seventeenth Century, in this little village 
among the mountains, is just the same to-day in its 
music, monologues or dialogues, as it was at the first. 
Its present form is an evolution from the cruder and 
simpler drama. Like the Bible itself, it is a mosaic, 
thought out through two centuries by men of fine 
emotion and high culture. We find, in fact, that the 
history of the development of the whole series of tab- 
leaux and acts, especially of the accompanying music, 
is a most instructive one. Enough to say now that 
the exact words of the songs are those of Father Weiss, 
of a Benedictine monastery, who wrote them between 
the years 1810 and 181 5, in which last-named year it 
was given under his personal direction, and of his pu- 
pil, Joseph Daisenberger, who finally fixed the text. 
The music is that of one Dedlar, who was also a 
musician, improved to a slight degree by Ferdinand 
Feldigl. So what we now have is less than a 
century old. Father Weiss died in 1845, ^^^ Dais- 
enberger some thirty-five years afterward. It is to 
Daisenberger — a faithful preacher and teacher, but bet- 
ter known as a composer, who adapted from the 
best old German authors the splendid religious chorals 
which are now inseparable from the Oberammergau 
Play — to whom the present fame of the symphonies of 
the Play are due. He loved music almost as he loved 
his soul, and, above all, he was inspired with enthu- 
siasm for the religious drama. It is said that his ener- 
gy years after the time of Weiss, at the great Play of 
1850, knew no bounds. That gave to it its distinctive 
character. Then, for the first, it met with such mer- 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 279 

ited success that all the nations of Europe learned of 
it, and began to travel regularly on a decennial pil- 
grimage toward the foot of the Kofel. He founded at 
Oberammergau that peculiar form of the dramatic art 
which is now as natural to the villagers as to draw 
breath or to attend the town church. 

Father Daisenberger laid well the foundation for 
a whole village of geniuses; and, as a result, the diffi- 
culty is, not to secure proper material for the chief 
parts in the Play, but to winnow what is at hand and 
tO' select only the best. The training school for these 
artists was then and is still the village church, and the 
trainers have been its successive preachers and choir- 
masters. In that church there are musical festivities, 
processions and tableaux year after year, some of 
them being, practically, parts of the Passion Play it- 
self. So it happens that at the end of each decade the 
churchgoers constitute a large company of drama- 
tists. When the time comes for the villagers to pre- 
pare for this event of events, a town committee of for- 
ty-five householders are appointed, and they, together 
with the priest and choirmaster, meet and select the 
coming actors. They first attend divine service and 
have prayer and praise; then ballot, and from the de- 
cision of that ballot there is no appeal. "Influence" is 
said not to count in the ballot, but merit only, based 
equally upon careful discussion and anxious prayer. 

To reach the out-of-the-way and peaceful valley 
where this famous decennial tragedy is performed, has 
recently been made an easy task. While the town 
is nestled in the high altitude of the Etta! and Kofel 
ranges of mountains, it is now accessible by railway 
from Munich in about four hours. Such a modern 
mode of getting there contrasts strongly with the 
method of coaching to that vicinity a few years ago. 



280 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

One then saw to better advantage fine natural scen- 
ery. But even by rail the route is crowded with 
glimpses of rural beauty, and especially so along and 
beyond the idyllic waters of Starnberg, Everywhere 
is redolence; everywhere are sweet scents of buck- 
wheat and barley fields in the harvest season. Not 
only in the spring, but all summer long, the roadside 
is gorgeous with daisies and bluebells, old-fashioned 
dandelions and anemones, and similar wild flowers 
common to the Bavarian hills. 

Before 1900 the railway stopped at Lake Starn- 
berg. In the latter year for the first time it was con- 
tinued directly to the Ammerthal, which is the name 
of the valley where the quiet, white village of Ober- 
ammergau nestles, as a babe in its mother's lap. The 
route starting with Lake Starnberg is, historically, of 
considerable interest. In one of the valleys, known 
as the Muhlthal, tradition declares that Charlemagne 
was born. On Lake Starnberg King Ludwig II. had 
a royal residence, and there in the blue waters by the 
lakeside he met his untimely death, by drowning, in 
June, 1886. Lake Starnberg is a large, placid, lively 
sheet of water, dotted here and there along its banks 
with tiny villages, with a background of forest-covered 
hills and a few snow-crowned peaks. The outlook 
from this point is one of unexpected charm and beck- 
ons us on with the hand of anticipation up toward the 
mountain summits. Murnau is a good-sized place; 
once it was Warmau, '' the valley of the Dragon." An- 
other lake lies near it, the StafTelsee, sacred in the vi- 
cinity through a tradition of St. Boniface. We still 
ascend to Oberau, following up a peaceful, pretty val- 
ley; the trees becoming more scanty, the vegetation 
continuing green as emerald. The Zugspitz, the high- 
est peak of Bavaria, has long been in the background,. 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 281 

but the valley hems us in from extended views. At 
Oberau a separate piece of railway begins, and car- 
riages must be changed. It is still six miles to our 
destination, with a grade of over six hundred feet to 
overcome, but it is deHghtful climbing. On foot, or 
by carriage, it used to be '' a way of penance," for the 
hills were severe and the road rough, and many lives 
are said to have been lost in the ascent. The last val- 
ley gained, there lies before us the historic place, white 
as milk, beautiful as a child, to appearances as quiet as 
the still, delicious air, which envelopes the sur- 
rounding peaks, the valley pastures and the patches of 
pine. 

The late afternoon sun poured a flood of mellow 
rays over the summit of the Kofel as I neared the vil- 
lage, illuminating the church spire and kissing a fare- 
well to the huge cross on that granite peak, which 
stands eight hundred feet above the vale and is its most 
commanding guardian. Father Daisenberger's words 
well befit the lips of any pilgrim entering this val- 
ley : 

"Let God be praised I He hath this vale created. 
To show to man the glory of His name! 
And these wide hills the Lord hath consecrated, 
Where He His love incessant may proclaim!" 

That good Father partially wrote a poetical drama 
(one of many others), of which the lines quoted con- 
stitute one of the closing verses, to commemorate the 
long-before "Founding of Ettal," an abbey and church 
of that name at the very portals of the valley. Built by 
sons of St. Benedict in 1330, the monastery has disap- 
peared. So have the successors tO' the monks who 
kept their long vigils within its quiet cloisters. Abbey 
and church were destroyed by lightning and fire in 
1774, and the monks were forced to seek temporary 



282 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

refuge elsewhere. But for three centuries those build- 
ings stood, the centre of the statue-shrine of a mira- 
cle-working Madonna, a retreat for disabled knights, 
who looked upon the spot as connected with the leg- 
end, especially the literature, of the quest of the Holy 
Grail, and as a monument to the great Bavarian king, 
Ludwig I. To-day another church stands upon the 
spot, and has an organ of which the locality is justly 
proud, but the Madonna still exists. Ettal is interest- 
ing, now, chiefly because there, long before Oberam- 
mergau existed or had an historic name, the Passion 
Play, it is said, was actually rendered. 

One ought to walk from Ettal to Oberammergau. 
It is like journeying across the Judean hills to Beth- 
lehem, the city of David. The heavens seem so near 
and the sins of earth so far away! Like Bethlehem 
of ancient days, this vicinity may be now — who 
knows? — the home of some child who shall be quite 
the equal of any earthly king. As I approached Ober- 
ammergau I felt that, were more kings cradled in 
such healthful surroundings, where there is virtue in 
every waft of wind, and where parents are living sim- 
ple lives without cruelties or cares, the products of 
royalty might be of finer edge. Mountain ash, with 
scarlet berries, line the roadway from Ettal, and there 
is a marble group of the Crucifixion on the spur of a 
low hill just before entering the village, which 
was a present from Ludwig II. in 1871, when the fame 
of the great Play had fairly begun its march around the 
world. 

In 1900 the train dropped travelers at the outer edge 
of the town, amid a scene of animation and great con- 
fusion. Temporary wooden platform and sheds had 
been erected to receive the crowds of people; omni- 
buses and vehicles of all kinds and descriptions stood 



L 




THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 283 

near to take one to his pre-arranged boarding-place. 
Woe to the man or woman who had not previously 
engaged board; there was no chance for such, except 
to be taken to some neighboring and not very near 
village. I had put my case in the hands of Mr. George 
Lang, the village postmaster, and keeper of the chief 
hotel, (cousin to Mr. Anton Lang, who played the 
part of " Christus " in the drama), and found him to 
be a whole-souled, genial, honorable, educated man, 
to know whom was an open key to the curious book 
of the village and the Play. He knew everything one 
desired to know and was a host as delightful as he 
was hospitable. His charming wife was said to be 
even superior to himself as a manager, and many de- 
lightful memories of the kindness of both will long 
abide with those who were fortunate enough to be- 
come acquainted with them. 

As to my own room, the hotel being already filled 
to overflowing, I had habitation in the house 
of Joseph Albrecht, who was " Matthew the Apostle," 
and who lived at No. 17. There were one hundred and 
eighty-four houses in the village, each numbered from 
" I " onward. A plain man, in winter a carver in 
wood, Albrecht wore his hair long, as did all the 
" twelve Apostles," and had the heart of a woman. He 
was waiting for me at the station, in dress as simple as 
a fisherman or a day laborer, and on a push-cart con- 
veyed my baggage to his home. I could have believed 
him to have been an humble fisherman of Galilee. His 
was a face that the Play and its love-messages had 
subdued to delicate tenderness. When he spoke his 
whole countenance lighted up as by an inward flame. 
His voice was low and gentle ; his carriage modest and 
shy; his words artless. He was a common man, but 
honored with a high mission. Was he conscious of 



284 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

that mission? I do not know. If so, he concealed his 
thoughts, and I am sure he did not possess one parti- 
cle of vanity because permitted to act in the Divine 
Tragedy, His home was a model of Bavarian ' clean- 
liness; plain, yet scrupulously neat, having all the 
necessaries for a comfortable existence, and even some 
luxuries. The bedroom was on the ground floor, in 
the rear of the dining-room and beside the street, so 
that one could have stepped directly into it from the 
sidewalk, as the window extended to the ground. The 
ceiling was frescoed. The sidewalls, newly painted, 
contained several framed chromos — excellent ones, 
too — of Christ, the Virgin, and St. John. The floor was 
painted and varnished, and partially covered by two 
pretty rugs. The bedstead was of native wood, grained 
dark, and glistened with new shellac. The bedding 
was as white and clean as in any American home, and 
it included a silk comfort, quilted by his wife's hand, 
of beautiful colors. A small bureau was surmounted 
with a white marble slab, on which stood a large mir- 
ror. There were strong, neat, cane-bottomed chairs 
about the room. I instantly felt at home in this tidy 
place, and knew that here, at least, I was safe from 
either robbers or the smaller pests of travel. We soon 
had dinner, for the hour to dine during the months of 
this solemn season was at the close of the day. The 
meal consisted of a plain soup, fricasseed lamb, roast 
beef, potatoes and hot biscuit, and was cooked well 
enough for a king. 

That evening I spent roaming about the main 
street, chiefly to obtain glimpses of the people who 
were there. This street was irregular, macadamized, 
and had some show of sidewalks. Evidently the visit- 
ors not American were from all quarters of Europe: 
from Austria, Germany, England, France, but chiefly 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 285 

from Germany. They were variously dressed, yet uni- 
formly well dressed. There were peasants not a few 
from the adjoining valleys and from the Engadine. 
One could readily distinguish the latter by their 
soft, greenish, wool hats and feathers, indicative of 
a race of woodsmen and musicians. The sidewalks were 
crowded; even in the roadways men and women jos- 
tled against each other. The little shops, which sold 
carved woods and pictures, were full of customers. 
The native population spent their winter days and 
long nights making, in wood, scenes of the Crucifix- 
ion, Madonnas, images of saints, elaborate toy houses, 
and other articles to be placed on sale at Munich and 
elsewhere, and they had put at these shops an unusual 
supply of those commodities. The houses looked Ger- 
man-like. On the gable ends of many were large paint- 
ings, either of Madonnas or of Gospel scenes; for ex- 
ample, Peter Fishing, Peter Drawing in the Net, etc, 
It was not dark until past nine o'clock, and then the 
chilly air gradually came down from the mountain 
summits; by eleven o'clock everybody was indoors 
and asleep in preparation for the morrow. 

That morrow was Sunday. It was the one day of 
the week when the Passion Play was certain to be 
enacted. On no other day did it fit in so well with the 
surroundings. The morning broke with a cloudless 
sky. The Kofel, overshadowing the town with its 
noble summit, was as fair and commanding as the 
splendid rock that lifts its lordly head above the for- 
tress of Gibraltar. The air was cool and crisp, yet the 
bright sun brought out a variety of birds, which car- 
olled their sweetest songs from tree-top and from 
flowering bush. Precisely at five o'clock the village 
cannon, from the meadow at the foot of the Kofel, 



286 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

reverberated in a score of echoes; it was the sign that 
the great day had actually begun! 

I confess to have arisen early and eaten breakfast 
with a good deal of suppressed excitement. At last 
the time had arrived when I was to witness the won- 
derful spectacle of the Passion and Death of Christ 
enacted by a whole village of unlettered peasants; by 
just such men as had been selected out of Galilee, nine- 
teen hundred years before, to serve the Son of God, 
when He trod the byways of Palestine. Indeed, I al- 
most shrank from the day's performance, as if from 
something which must be irreverent, and so to my 
soul abhorrent. Yet overhead was the unclouded sun 
in its splendor, pouring benedictions of joy upon the 
earth; and below were the guileless birds, singing in 
jubiliant chorus the anthems taught them by their 
loving Creator. At least Nature had put its seal of 
approval on the day^ if not on the performance of the 
Immortal Tragedy. 

All around, pursuing their way in one general di- 
rection, I saw the earnest, thoughtful faces of men, 
women and children hurrying along the street toward 
the auditorium. Surely in those faces were no signs 
implying that something was to happen which was ir- 
religious or desecrating! It could not be, I thought, 
that thousands of people were here assembling to wit- 
ness some irreverent act on the part of those reverential 
villagers. 

The structure known as the Passion Play theatre 
was at one end of the town, quite near to the railway 
station, and so tall and large that it was easily visible 
for miles around. In previous decades, this building 
was only part covered, and was much smaller. But for 
1900 it was rebuilt, at a cost of fifty thousand dollars, 
and now comfortably seated four thousand spectators. 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 287 

None too large for the season for which it was intend- 
ed, as there were many days in July and August when 
crowds were turned away, and were obliged to wait 
until Monday to secure admission. The Play was re- 
peated on any Monday when a certain number could 
not be accommodated on the Sunday. The theatre 
was covered, to keep off rain from the spectators, 
and the chair seats, home-made, of plain, painted 
wood, were entirely comfortable. One end was open, 
so that the sky could give plentiful light, and so that 
the outlook to right and left might be of the " ever- 
lasting hills." Before the centre of this opening was 
the stage, beside which, and leading up to it by broad 
stairs, were raised platforms, before the " Palace of 
Pilate " and the " Palace of the High Priest, Annas." 
In the rear of the stage was the enclosed space used as 
the " Hall of Caiaphas," and also as the spot where 
many of the leading events occurred, such as the 
'' Last Supper," the " Trial of Christ," the " Cruci- 
fixion," etc. On each side of this extended proscen- 
ium, and running back out of sight, were what repre- 
sented the streets of Jerusalem, and these, with the 
stage and proscenium, permitted of the disposal of 
large bodies of people. In fact nine hundred villagers 
were to act the drama. The curtain separating the 
proscenium from the stage contained a charming 
painting of Christ surrounded by poor people, those 
to whom his looks were a perpetual benediction, and 
who were hanging on these gracious words, painted 
thereon in German : " Come unto me all ye that labor 
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." An in- 
ner curtain was faced with a painting of Moses and the 
two prophets, Isaiah and Jeremiah, 

At eight o'clock precisely, when everyone of the 
four thousand seats was occupied, there was sudden- 



288 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

ly a profound silence. The cannon was again being 
fired, for the Play was to begin. At once the chorus 
of thirty-four singers, with their leader, known as the 
Choragus, filed in upon the proscenium, with the 
stateliness of the apostles and prophets of old. With 
dresses of various charming colors, over which were 
pure white tunics, having golden fringes, their appear- 
ance was scarcely, if at all, that of modern thea- 
tre performers, but rather of grave and thought- 
ful Greeks, who had journeyed, perhaps from afar, 
like the magi of the Orient, to witness the coming of 
thq Wisest of Men. Solemn and majestic walked at 
their head that fine type of manly dignity, Joseph 
Mayr, the " Ecco Homo" of 1871 (not 1870, as the 
Franco-Prussian War disturbed that date), 1880 and 
1890, now the figurehead of a band who might well 
be styled, from their past services in this Play and 
thein venerable age, the Old Testament prophets. 
Erect of bearing, of noble mien, with flowing white 
beard, he seemed to be an Elijah of old, a Seer into 
the gates of the future, a weary-worn, indomitable 
earthly King on his way to the Heavenly City. Except 
that a younger man must needs represent the Christ, 
whose whole brief earthly ministry was spent in the 
flower of early mairheod, Mayr would no doubt have 
continued to be to the day of his death the only person 
thought of in Oberammergau for the character of the 
Divine One. As this could not be, it was a happy 
thought which placed him at the head of the singers 
as the Choragus, where he could speak. He alone of 
all the singers was permitted to have a voice except 
in song. He, alone, could proclaim, as one crying in 
the wilderness: "Behold the Lamb of God!" He 
spoke, as soon as ever>T>ne was in position, with com- 
manding voice, as follows : 




Anton Lang as " Christus," in Passion Play of jgoo. 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 289 

*'0 human race! by sin and shame laid low, 
Adore thy God: bend down and kiss the dust. 
Peace then shall come, and grace from Zion flow; 
Nor ever spurns He 
The OflFended One— although His wrath is just! 

" 'I will,' the Lord doth say, 
'Not that the sinner die; forgive 
Will I his guilt, and he shall live! 
My Son's own blood for him shall now atone.' 
Praise, wonder, tears of joy to Thee, Eternal One! " 

This was followed by the first tableau, ''Adam and 
Eve driven out of the Garden of Eden " by the angel 
with the flaming sword; and, as the audience looked 
upon it, the Chorus sang in the stately manner of the 
German choral. Each one of the eighteen "Acts," 
which made up the day's drama, was thus introduced 
by Mayr, the leader and Choragus, who gave in verse a 
description, or forecast, of the scene about to be 
presented ; and each time, when his voice died away 
and a tableaux appeared, the Chorus took up the 
thought, and the rhythm of their song filled the vast 
auditorium with what som.etimes seemed a funeral 
dirge, and sometimes a hymn of seraphic joy. 

That which impressed me most about the Chorus, 
however, was not more the cultured music than the 
extremely beautiful colorings of the garments of the 
singers, successively graduated and modulated in their 
tones. There were no " loud " colors worn, no flash- 
ing reds and yellows, but soft, subdued tints, ar- 
ranged in exquisite order by some master-hand. Fr(»m 
the central figure these colors were paired off, one on 
either side, and, as I made a note of them, they may 
prove of interest to some readers. Beginning with 
the Choragus, to right and left, the colors were: scar- 
let, blue, olive, blue, magenta, green, blue, brown, red, 
green, violet, blue, brown, black, green, blue, pink. 



290 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Each color, where named above as Hke, was of a differ- 
ent shade from its counterpart. Each singer wore a 
gold crown. In their vocal music some voices were 
peculiarly pathetic and penetrating, and all blended 
with remarkable precision. 

The words of the Qiorus, following the opening of 
the Choragus, were also equally solemn and devotional. 
They began : 

"But in the distance, from 'mid Calvary's throes, 
Through the dark night the glow of morn appears. 
Seel from the branches of the Cross there flows 
Sweet, balmy peace to all created spheres." 

It was a grand prelude to a most sublime series of 
tableaux, recitations, acts, which lasted from eight in 
the morning until five in the evening, with an inter- 
mission of one hour at noon. All the tableaux were 
from the Old Testament; one, and sometimes two, of 
them, preceding each Act in the drama of the life of 
Christ. They were always fitting, usually entirely nat- 
ural, sometimes so faithful to reality that it seemed as 
if the actual worthies of Israel of the days from Moses 
to Elijah must be upon the stage. 

I shall never forget the opening Act : " Christ's en- 
try into Jerusalem." Having seen " Ben Hur " upon 
the stage, I anticipated something of the same disap- 
pointment felt then in witnessing merely the casting 
down of the palm branches, without the actual sight 
of Him for whom these tributes were. He surely had 
trod the highway from Olivet to the city, yet what if 
after all one should not see His face ? There was to be 
no such disappointment. As the procession came 
along the street, while there was neither Olivet in 
the foreground nor Temple in the distance, neither 
Valley of Hinnom nor city walls, yet, with and among 
all kinds and classes of the Judean multitude, the rich 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 291 

and the poor, the well-dressed and the beggar, fathers, 
mothers and children, the lame and the blind, and 
even little babes without number, there appeared in 
the throng the Master Himself, seated upon an ass, 
and His disciples behind Him, just as imagination 
would have pictured it. He was there — humble, but 
alive; poor, but a King! As that vast concourse of 
murmuring and shouting humanity filled up the pro- 
scenium, the climax of the Act had been reached; 
for He, the central figure of the strange scene, the 
Matchless One, rode on amid the noisy multitude in 
silence and unspeakable dignity! 

It is safe to say that not one of the four thousand 
spectators in the audience saw Anton Lang take his 
part in that opening Act, or afterward, and entertained 
a doubt of the appropriateness of the choice which 
made him for the occasion the "King of the Jews" and 
the " Saviour of Men." Inherent nobility and tenderest 
gentleness in actions and words combined to force 
the conviction that he was exactly suited to act the 
part of the '* Qiristus " of 1900 at Oberammergau. Of 
tall stature — ^just a little taller than any of his " Disci- 
ples " — the lineaments of his fine face betokened puri- 
ty of mind and perfect serenity of soul. His long, 
flowing hair of blond, falling gracefully upon his shoul- 
ders, (which had a slight stoop as if indicative of a load 
upon his soul), made at the first an impression which 
every subsequent Act in the drama intensified. He 
wore, appropriately, a robe of purplish fawn color, 
and over his left shoulder was a scarlet scarf, extend- 
ing nearly to his feet. During the whole play I could 
not divest myself of the feeling that here was almost 
the very Christ of Nazareth. 

I must not linger on the various scenes of the Pas- 
sion, as depicted throughout that summer day. Somie 



292 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

few have been so burned into the soul that I shall 
always count it an untold fortune that my eyes saw 
and my heart felt their thrilling story. For example, 
the parting of Mary and Jesus at Bethany, as He goes 
on to the scene of His betrayal. There was the singular 
anomaly that His mother was younger than Himself 
(the real actress was only nineteen years of age) ; but 
this was following a Jewish tradition — and a beautiful 
one it is — which dowered her at His birth with 
eternal youth. " O dearest Jesus," exclaimed the 
Nazarene woman, in her tears wringing her hands, 
as only a mother can, " full of tender yearning have I 
hastened with my friends to see Thee once more be- 
fore Thou goest away." " Beloved mother," was the 
calm reply, spoken with infinite tenderness, " I am 
now on the way to Jerusalem. Now is the time ap- 
pointed from the beginning to give Myself up as a 
sacrifice according to the Father's will. I am prepared 
to consummate the work!" " I have forebodings," re- 
plied Mary; " my heart tells me what kind of a sacri- 
fice that will be." The scene had in it that pathos of 
motherly love and filial affection which have survived 
the wrecks of time and the sin and shame of the ages. 
Another example was the " Temptation of Judas." 
Judas was Johan Zwink, a plain house-painter; a man 
who had acted the part of Judas so well in 1890 that 
he had been retained for the same character in 1900. 
He was a consummate actor. I never saw a better 
on any stage. His agreement before the Council to 
betray his Lord, the subsequent betrayal, the holding 
of the bag of money, consisting of the thirty pieces, his 
despair; everything except the actual suicide (which 
was scarcely short of the ridiculous), exhibited intense 
guilt, horror, misery, which were in every movement, 
:gesture, contortion, word. As scene after scene fol- 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 293 

lowed in succession — the Garden of Gethsemane, the 
hearing before Annas, before Caiaphas, the denial and 
contrition of Peter — Judas again and again appeared, 
not as an image of incarnate wickedness, but as an em- 
bodiment of awful remorse. He had misunderstood 
the situation; he had supposed his Lord would reveal 
Himself as a King, punish even the Sanhedrin, and 
save Himself from His enemies: but, alas! Jesus had 
failed to care for His own life ; he was now about to die 
through the betrayal. Such was the interpretation of 
the act of Judas as understood by the peasant actors, 
and in carrying out the idea the sorrow and chagrin 
of the betrayer were terrible to witness. His peniten- 
tial rage was at times scarcely short of the sublime. 
There was a period of five minutes during one of the 
most dramatic soliloquies of Judas when a hailstorm 
came up, and, amid wind and darkness, great hail- 
stones dashed upon him and upon the stage. It fitted 
exactly the scene and the words he was uttering, and 
it was the most effective intermixture of the elements 
of Nature and the performance of a great actor that I 
ever expect to witness. 

I hardly know which of the eighteen long scenes 
was the greatest in point of merit. The street view in 
front of Pilate's house, when the crowd appeared, and 
Pilate came out again and again, finally to give up 
Barabbas to freedom, and permitted the mob to carry 
of¥ Christ to Golgotha, was tremendous in its effect. 
So was the scene of the " Bearing of the Cross " by 
Simeon. But these events only led up to the more 
wonderful drama of the Crucifixion itself, when, amid 
absolute silence, a " silence that could be felt," the 
members of the Chorus, now no longer dressed in 
rainbow hues but in the black garb of mourning, sang 
a profoundly impressive dirge; and when one could 



294 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

hear the nails being driven into the hands and feet be- 
hind the curtain. When the curtain arose and the Cross 
was uplifted ; when the figures of Mary, and Mary Mag- 
dalene, and John drew near; when the Roman soldiers 
appeared, and to right and left two other crosses were 
seen, the minutest details of the vivid scene as carried 
out by the participants made the interest so painfully 
intense that tears came to hundreds of eyes. Mingled 
with the seemingly terrible emotions of the players 
themselves were the sobs of the spectators in the seats. 
As the death moment arrived, and the last words were 
uttered from the Cross: " It is finished! O Father, in- 
to Thy hands I commend my spirit!" and the head 
sank heavily on the breast, while the darkness of hell 
overspread the earth, the lightnings played, the thun- 
der rolled, and the earth quavered, every onlooker 
was wrought up to such a pitch of suppressed excite- 
ment over the natural and supernatural events, that to 
have uttered a word, one to the other, would have 
been the embodiment of irreverence and almost a 
public scandal. I see that scene now, the solemnity 
of it, the blackness of it, the terror and mightiness of 
it, and my mind refuses to find words of adequate 
description for it, even to my own soul ! 

The last scenes, those of the Resurrection and As- 
cension, were not as satisfactory as those which had 
preceded. They could not be. The tension of the 
audience had been too great up to the culminating 
scene of death; the climax was over. The earthquake 
before the tomb, the rolling away of the door, the ter- 
ror of the soldiers, who were " like dead men," the 
blessing on Olivet, the ascension to Heaven: these 
were well staged, and the accompanying graceful mu- 
sic was gloriously jubilant, full of hope and gladness, 
inspiring. But they did not overtop, they could not 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 295 

€qual, the climax itself. They rounded out, com- 
pleted, glorified, the whole prolonged history of the 
Life and Passion, but did not add one jot or tittle 
to the unequalled execution of the whole previous 
masterpiece of dramatic art. 

Sometimes — before having seen the actual repre- 
sentation — I wondered how Canon Farrar, who saw 
the Play in 1890, could have expressed himself about 
the presentation of the character of Christ, as taken 
by Joseph Mayr, in this wise : "In his personation of 
the Christus he does not ofifend us by a single word 
or a single gesture. . . . His impersonation — it 
is something much higher and more sacred than act- 
ing — is the transference into a living picture of what 
the Gospels tell us." Dean Stanley, in i860, and Dean 
Milman, also, had said even more in praise of what the 
Protestant world up to that period had supposed to 
be irreverent. But now their statements were proven 
to be actual truths. 

When I came out of the tabernacle — a Holy Tem- 
ple, as it suddenly seemed to be — I was not sure, until 
I saw the crowds jostling and pushing in every direc- 
tion, that I had not been upon some mountain top, 
apart, witnessing a new revelation of the whole won- 
drous Story of Old. The sun was still shining in his 
strength; the birds were yet warbling in the boughs 
of the linden and the fruit trees, and all Nature was 
in the divine garb of quiet beauty and heavenly seren- 
ity. I saw, indeed, that the actual Gethsemane and 
the real Golgotha were not there, among these men 
of the approaching Twentieth Century ; that I had not 
been in Jerusalem, nor on Olivet. But I could not 
push away, I would not have rolled back if I could, 
the tremendous thought that these humble peasants, 
not highly educated but touched by the spirit of God, 



296 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

deeply religious in the truest sense of the word, had 
Drought nearer to me a realization of the mission of 
Jesus to sinful man, and of the inherent dignity of 
His pure character and immaculate life, than all the 
essays in all the books of human wisdom that I had 
ever read. 

Once again I went to see the Play; it was a month 
later. Was it now to be less natural and more con- 
strained, less spiritual "and more faulty? I wondered. 
Yet I was eager to go. Something fascinated me, 
drew me on, encouraged me to believe I should find 
more of the Divine and less of the human in it than 
before. Again I found in this sweet valley the same 
cloudless Sunday, the same earnest crowds on the 
street, the same atmosphere of expectancy, the same 
profound interest. At the usual early hour of eight 
in the morning everything was hushed to quiet, and 
again at the theatre the scenes came on, one by one, 
exactly as before; not an actor missing, not a mother 
or babe of the *' multitude in Jerusalem " away, not 
a singer less; and the wonder of it, and the dramatic 
power and tenderness of it, grew and widened in my 
soul, till I wished — hopeless wish! — that I might miss 
no future acting of the Passion Play for all that sum- 
mer. Beside me sat an American who had gone to 
hear it once, as a critic. He spoke to me during a 
moment of pause — which rarely came during the 
hours of the performance — and this is what he said: 
"This is my eighth Sunday; I cannot go away, for I am 
learning more of true acting from these peasants than 
I ever knew in all my life." 

His judgment was not in error. Beside those val- 
ley peasants, our American, EngHsh, or French, 
not to say German, painted men and women, who uni- 
formly desecrate every true drama rendered in our vari- 



THE PASSION PLAY OF 1900 297 

ous cities, shrink into pigmies. At Oberammergau 
I began to believe that great acting can only be 
performed by men too humble to sham, and too sincere 
to practice the average stage frauds. Such actors were 
to be found among the best of the old Greeks; and 
such were those humble folk who took part in the 
Passion Play the last year preceding the opening of 
this Twentieth Century. 



19 



XVII.— GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES. 

THE OPPORTUNITY has never come to me to 
be " introduced " to royalty, and the loss of it 
has never been felt. But there are those who 
would give a share of their earthly fortune to bend the 
body low, in a " profound " bow, before some of the 
sovereigns of the courts of Europe. For such readers 
of this book there may be an interest felt in the few 
" glimpses " of sovereigns recorded in the following 
narrative. 

My first sight of a " real, live king" was over a 
quarter of a century ago. Then for the first time I 
found myself in what was known as, and is sometimes 
still called, the second Paris of Europe. It had then, 
as now, elegant residences, broad streets, a charming 
park and the general air of a cultured French city. Its 
chief architectural glory was its City Hall, almost five 
hundred years old, of remarkably pure Gothic archi- 
tecture, with a tower on it 370 feet high, such as 
shames any structure known by such a name in New 
York city, or Chicago, or Philadelphia. Surely the 
Hotel de Ville of Brussels was and is peculiarly a 
" thing of beauty and a joy forever." There was a 
Cathedral nearly seven hundred years old, with 
some of the choicest of stained glass windows and 
well-carved oak pulpits. With a friend I had just been 
admiring these two magnificent specimens of new and 
old Flemish art, when the cry came up from many 
thousand throats on the boulevard: "Vive le Roy!" 
And there came by in an open barouche, drawn by 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 299 

four horses, leisurely enough to permit him to raise 
his hat to the right and left, to acknowledge the greet- 
ings of his subjects, King Leopold II., ruler of Bel- 
gium. He was simply out riding, as was his daily cus- 
tom (although his preference has always been for 
horseback), perhaps going toward his summer palace, 
about four miles away, in the country. He was a real 
king, and yet he looked like many another well- 
dressed, intelligent man who may be seen any day in 
a carriage or on foot in any other city. He was tall, 
rather slender in build, had a full, straight, long, black 
beard — glossy black; wore a high silk hat and a plain 
black suit. He was alone, save a driver and an attend- 
ant. 

King Leopold was then about forty years of age; 
now he is sixty-nine; so that he is getting to be one 
of the more aged of the rulers of Europe. He was 
not exactly a handsome man, having narrow eyes — 
yet they were keen eyes — and a too-prominent nose; 
but he sat so erect, bowed so gracefully and had such 
an air of business dignity, the strength of a man who 
knew what he wanted to do and how to do it, that it 
gave to the onlooker a feeling of genuine satisfaction. 
Surely he could not inspire fear, but confidence, re- 
spect, and, if one were only a Belgian, affection. 

I have since then learned to admire many of Leo- 
pold's best qualities. Except for him Stanley would 
not have founded the great Congo Free State in Afri- 
ca, because he alone of all the Continental rulers seems 
to have had the good sense to see that Darkest Africa 
could only become Brightest Africa by founding an in- 
dependent kingdom there, governed in a Christian 
spirit, by Christian white men, that, like leaven, it 
might leaven the whole lump; and so he opened his 
purse and spent his enthusiasm carrying out his en- 



300 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

lightened views. He interested all the foreign powers 
at a Conference which he called together, and, nine 
years afterward, in 1885, he firmly established the 
Independent State of the Congo, with himself as its 
ruler, and with the free consent of all the powers of 
Europe. It has continued to be his hobby for all these 
succeeding years, and he gives a vast deal of time and 
money to the project. 

Those who are old enough to remember Maximil- 
ian's freakish attempt to become ruler of Mexico, and 
know the story of his ill-fated queen, Carlotta, will 
probably call to mind that Carlotta is Leopold's sister. 

Leopold loves peace and lives in great simplicity. 
He sleeps in a camp bed. He rises at six, and, after a 
light breakfast, takes up his state papers for several 
hours. He signs no document unless he knows all 
about it. He is so much opposed to bloodshed that 
he will not allow any man to be hung, quite contrary 
to the usages of kings. He does not care for amuse- 
ment, and is said to absolutely hate the theatre. He 
knows nearly everybody and never forgets a face or a 
name. He often goes over to England as a plain citizen 
— incognito, the press say — to study in the British 
Museum, or to see some famous sights. Of course he 
speaks English perfectly and likes the language. Un- 
til her death, it was not known generally that Queen 
Victoria was very fond of this Leopold, for his fa- 
ther's, Leopold I.'s, sake, and that for years the two had 
corresponded weekly. It is not too much to suppose 
that at some future date a portion of that correspond- 
ence will be given to the public. 

Leopold's country residence at Laeken, near Brus- 
sels, is in fine, large grounds, where he indulges to the 
extreme his great taste for horticulture. He has the 
biggest glasshouses for plants in all the country, where 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 301 

the azaleas and geraniums, the camellias and the 
fuchsias, are superb, and an orangery and all manner 
of tropical plants. His royal palace in Brussels has 
the usual ball rooms, dining rooms and chamber 
suites, but, as it is not so fine as some others on the 
Continent, let us pass it by to look at a somewhat dif- 
ferent picture. 

It was years afterward before I had a second 
chance to see royalty. Then it was in a city as unlike 
Brussels as Constantinople is unlike London. It was 
in the most romantic spot by day and the loveliest by 
night one may hope to visit this side of Paradise: in 
Venice. I stood up with a crowd of people in the 
Square of St. Mark's. From the palace balcony there 
was, suddenly, a real Chautauqua flutter of hand- 
kerchiefs. It meant that King Humbert (Umberto, as 
his subjects called him) of Italy and his beautiful wife, 
Queen Margherita, were about to announce them- 
selves. There was a moment of pause and then, as 
they appeared, both bowing to the public, the cries of 
the excited Italians were like the bursting of a storm. 
In the days when I went to hear Edwin Booth in 
Julius Caesar, there were these same hurrahs of the 
so-called Roman populace, but that, manifolded, was 
the strange babel of noises now heard in St. Mark's 
Square. Every night of the four or five days during 
which their Majesties remained in Venice, the same 
scene was repeated; the same multitude, handker- 
chiefs, huzzas. The following day the great Broad- 
way of Venice — its Grand Canal — was ablaze with 
colors and enchantments from end to end. There were 
thousands of gondolas and tens of thousands of peo- 
ples. Surely an old Roman holiday in new settings. 
Some of us enjoyed all the scenes of that afternoon 
from the balcony of a hotel which was formerly the 



302 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Palace Giustinian, where George Eliot once resided, 
and where Wagner wrote one of his famous operas; 
and, everything considered, the outlook made up the 
finest water spectacle I have ever had the pleasure to 
look upon. The chief sight was a regatta race in 
honor, and under the auspices, of the King. For a 
time I tried to believe I was in Egypt of old, 
when Cleopatra's barges _ were on the Nile, or in 
Greece, when Alexander's fleet was at Piraeus. An- 
cient Roman gladiators and Persians seemed inex- 
tricably mingled, as they raced down the Canal. 
Every brilliant flag in the world and every luxuriant 
costume was displayed. There were private gondolas 
without number, all painted black, of course, under 
an immemorial law, but each gaily decorated for the 
fete. The King and his Queen, and '' little Victor," 
Prince of Naples, then five years old (now the King), 
and the gentlemen and ladies of the Italian court, 
went early over the course, took their stations and 
awaited the racers. 

King Humbert was not then handsome ; he had not 
thQ dignity and grace of Leopold. He was a spare, 
rather short, undersized man, with a deeply bronzed 
face and a striking mustache. Like Leopold he was 
in perfectly plain black dress. His hair was combed 
directly upward and backward. As is w^ell-known, he 
was the son of Victor Emmanuel, who, with Garibaldi, 
was the Liberator of Italy. On the whole he was not 
an unworthy successor of that once beloved King. 
Margherita, his cousin, was daughter of the Duke of 
Genoa, own brother to Victor Emmanuel. She was 
at the time of which I write a lovely woman of just 
twenty-four, thoroughly handsome and as thoroughly 
good. There were stories about King Humbert not 
being altogether good, but everyone knew that Mar- 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 303 

gherita was as lovely in character as she was bewitch- 
ing in manners. She was a full blonde in complexion 
and strikingly fair, too, for a blonde, with eyes of deep 
blue, and her every movement was grace. This grace 
was not by the accident of birth. Real grace comes 
only through perfection in art, based on naturalness. 
If you are thoroughly yourself you are wholly at ease ; 
when wholly at ease you can study the art of always 
appearing well. A queen must appear at her best 
when in public, but Margherita, it is said, was always 
at her best. The Italians fairly worshiped their 
Queen and she deserved all the homage she received. 
One story has been told before, to show King 
Humbert's fondness for playing tricks, when he did 
not desire to yield to the Queen's judgment in any 
matter. It is said he invariably had his own way, any- 
how; no doubt a bad thing for him, for no man— un- 
less a king — can afford to be stubborn when his wife 
puts forth a wise influence. But this time her wisdom 
was in fault. His hair had become prematurely white. 
The Piedmontese officers, as they grew aged and had 
white hair, dyed their capillary covering black. It was 
the fashion. The Queen asked Humbert to dye his 
hair, but he refused. To persuade him more gently 
than by continued words, she caused a quantity of fine 
hair dye to be sent from Paris and put in his dressing 
room. He said nothing, but one day the Queen's 
large white poodle, of which she was extremely fond, 
came running into her room with his locks as black 
as a stovepipe. Humbert had used the dyes, not as 
expected, but on the poodle! Another anecdote: 
Humbert could not sing a note. She sang beautifully. 
One day he desired her to remove her glasses, a re- 
cent acquisition which he did not like. She did not 
at once obey, and he promptly said : " Margherita, if 



304 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

you don't take off those glasses, I shall sing." The 
glasses dropped. 

King Humbert all his life was up with the dawn 
and defied all weather. When out in the rain he would 
not raise an umbrella, but would get wet to the skin. 
The middays are very hot in Italy, but he would stand 
out in the sun during public occasions for hours at a 
time. He was a democratic king; no aristocracy about 
him, as there was none about Emmanuel. Unfortu- 
nately, his education was comparatively limited; he 
did not care for it. On the contrary, Margherita 
called around her men of letters and could discuss 
with them literary, as well as political, themes. Her 
private sitting-room contained books in many lan- 
guages, stacks of music and quantities of fancywork, 
finished and unfinished. 

The last time I saw Humbert alive was in 1899. 
He, on horseback, marched at the head of his troops 
on the Via Nazionale in Rome. A gray, weather- 
beaten man; much stouter than formerly and more 
like a general. The people were not profuse in their 
applause, and what was given was tendered, rather, 
to the Queen, who rode in an open barouche close by 
him. She had lost the freshness of youth, but had 
gained the serene dignity of middle life. Poor woman, 
her husband was assassinated one year later, on July 
29, 1900, near Milan, and now her home is to be in 
Venice, while Victor Emmanuel HI. reigns. I saw, 
later, the wonderful display of offerings, wreaths and 
flowers, which filled the Pantheon, when the dead 
King lay in state upon a tall, symmetrical catafalque, 
under that great, round dome, open above to the tran- 
quil sky. The poor and the rich passed in and out 
day after day to pay tribute to one who was well-liked 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 305 

in life, but who was better appreciated when it was 
too late to give him praise. 

Of Humbert's four palaces — at Naples, Rome, 
Florence and Venice — none was as elegant as palaces 
are supposed to be. The chief was the Quirinal, in 
Rome. That stands on a hill, one of the Seven Hills, on 
which probably was an ancient temple to Mars. Pope 
Gregory XHI. started to build it three hundred and 
thirty years ago, and six later Popes tried their hands 
at improving it. They fancied that hilltop healthier 
than the Vatican and so lived on it in summer. There is 
nothing outside worthy of attention; simply a big, 
stone building, not exactly homely, not handsonie. It 
became the King's residence in 1870, after the Pope's 
temporal power was abolished. As in all palaces, it 
is entered by a great stairs, having some forty steps 
of marble, very broad and attractive. On the first land- 
ing is an immense fresco of Christ surrounded by an- 
gels. At the top of the staircase one enters a large 
hall, a hundred and fifty feet long, with the coat of 
arms of all the Italian cities around the frieze and 
with a heavily decorated ceiling. On the sidewalls 
are enormous paintings. The floors, like all palace 
floors, are either of marbles, or highly polished, hard 
woods. 

One enters, almost first, the Pauline Chapel, its 
walls lined with gobelin tapestries. Then room 
after room, for receptions, for dancing, for state 
occasions and for pictures. As I remember, I went 
through twenty-one rooms, and then reached the 
King's private drawing-room and the suite of rooms 
for the Queen, looking out into the Quirinal gardens. 
In one room the Queen had a collection of rare birds. 
Perhaps, after her apartments, which were homelike 
notwithstanding their elegance, the prettiest was the 



30G BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

King's big banqueting room, where he gave state din- 
ners. 

Speaking about palaces, although I have been 
through fifteen or sixteen in various parts of Europe, 
I have found that, with one or two exceptions, when 
you have seen one good plain one like that of the 
Quirinal, you have almost seem them all. The chief 
palace of the late greatest sovereign, the good Queen 
Victoria, was as poor as any, which means that most 
are disappointing. Of the order ranging below Victo- 
ria's are, perhaps, those mediocre ones of Holland, 
Norway, Sweden, Belgium, Greece. The Quirinal and 
those in Berlin are better. Those at Versailles and 
Fontainebleau, France, and at Potsdam, Germany, cer- 
tainly rank still higher. Head of all are those of Russia, 
the land of the Czar and of historic tyranny, the coun- 
try of densest ignorance but also of most unparalleled 
royal and churchly magnificence. In St. Petersburg 
the Winter Palace and the Hermitage, which Cather- 
ine the Great left as a picture gallery, are, within, 
everything that the imagination pictures palaces ought 
to be. The Winter Palace, especially, is grandeur 
itself. It contains suite upon suite of splendid halls, full 
of rarest works of art, of malachites and precious stones, 
of vases and pictures. Each room grows more mag- 
nificent than the last. Each cut-glass chandelier, each 
vaulted ceiling, each wonderful decoration, is more 
rare and beautiful than the preceding, and when the 
guide brings you into the Hall of St. George and into 
the great white-and-gold hall for the court fetes, you 
think of the tales of the Arabian Nights and wonder 
if this is a building upon earth or in the skies. In Mos- 
cow, four hundred miles away from St. Petersburg, is 
another palace, in some ways equally bewitching in 
richness, and when one has seen that also, with its 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 307 

throne-room's carpet of cloth of gold, and then Mos- 
cow's cathedrals, he can only go to the Taj Mahal of 
India to see anything more grand. Fabulous sums 
have made the Russian palaces and Russian churches 
rich in gold, jewels and gems beyond calculation. 

It was on a glorious July day when cool and de- 
lightful Russia opened its seemingly inhospitable 
doors to a few of us Americans, on pleasure bent, and, 
if possible, to see the Czar. We had scarcely dared 
hope to view His Imperial Majesty, and perhaps were 
afraid that, if we did, it would be to hear a sentence to 
Siberia. Nevertheless it came about that we were to 
see two sovereigns and their wives, the Czar and 
Czarina, of Russia, and the Emperor William II. and 
his Queen, of Germany. These two men wield more 
power than any potentates on the globe, always ex- 
cepting Edward VII. of England, whose dominion 
runs ** from sun to sun." We took a train to Krasnoe 
Selo, forty miles from St. Petersburg, where the Rus- 
sian army was to be reviewed by the German Emper- 
or, who arrived the day after we did. This visit of 
William to the Czar Nicholas on the date when we 
were at the Russian capital gave us an opportunity, 
not possible otherwise, of seeing their Imperial Maj- 
esties inspect the Russian soldiery, and also the fa- 
mous Russian nobles and women of the Court, for all 
met at Krasnoe. We went to an open field and had 
seats on a platform, built solely for the occasion. Each 
seat was sold for four dollars, and the proceeds were 
to be for the poor of St. Petersburg — a most laudable 
charity. Opposite was, first, a band of a thousand 
pieces. What stirring music they did make! Next, 
beyond, was the royal tent, with a dozen foot-guards 
pacing around it. Back of the tent were soldiers, ex- 
tending for miles up and down, a long line whose ex- 



308 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

treme ends we could not discern. The nobles and 
their ladies came riding to the tent in that royal Rus- 
sian fashion, which made us feel the thrill and the dig- 
nity of the occasion. Three horses abreast, the cen- 
tre one with the high overyoke — on they came, ap- 
parently from every direction, though really over the 
one road; it was a grand spectacle. Some looked like 
Persians, some like Tartars, and the women had dress 
and figure, poise and manner, such as Russian women 
of the higher classes usually possess. This was a 
display af the nobility as you read of it. Here were 
the varying touches of chivalrous attention to the sov- 
ereign and of personal ornamentation that counts with 
the plebeian, and they were both novel and interesting. 

Now came the Czar and the Emperor, on horse- 
back, with a company of cavalry behind them, receiv- 
ing and returning the military salutes of officers and 
men of the army. As they reached the tent, or, per- 
haps, a few minutes earUer, the Czarina and the Em- 
press Augusta arrived in an open barouche, the former 
in a white, the latter in a pale green gown, with ample 
cloaks of ermine around them, which they handed to 
the footmen as they left the carriage. These footmen, 
dressed like East Indians in red apparel, took the Em- 
presses' cloaks, and, standing motionless, held them for 
an hour, until the return journey was begun. For 
thirty minutes our opera glasses brought these four 
crowned heads as close to us as if to speak, and we ob- 
served every movement, both of them and of the 
court. 

The Czar is a small-sized man, in appearance mild- 
mannered, rather effeminate. He has sandy beard 
and mustache, attractive eyes, short-cut hair, and 
would be considered by no one a merciless tyrant, or 
" monster," as, in fact, he is not. The Czarina's face 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 309 

is, like his, long, and, in repose, sad and thoughtful. 
She has had much to make her mourn, for her first 
lover, brother to the Czar, was killed in a rough play 
by her present husband, and she has had other things 
to mar her peace. But she is, as is he, free of any 
breath of scandal, and they are perhaps the most hap- 
pily mated royal family in Europe. He is frail, ner- 
vous and pallid ; so is she. He has a high temper, but 
she is never the victim of it. 

The Emperor William is now forty-five years of age, 
fourteen years younger than Nicholas H. He looked, 
at Krasnoe, to be a big, sunburned, headstrong boy of 
twenty-five. One can never forget Gladstone's scath- 
ing letter on the late Grecian war, in which the " Boy 
King " was held up to withering sarcasm. Still, it is 
hardly fair to predict so early what this wiry sover- 
eign will do. He may determine the destinies of other 
nations than his own. He may plunge all the world 
into war. He may be the means of promoting the 
world's peace. The Empress Augusta Victoria is a 
stout, able-bodied woman, of the good, sturdy Ger- 
man type, who doesn't figure in the sovereign world 
much. He does it all ; she looks on. 

Will the reader be more interested in another and 
simpler scene, viewed about twelve days later than the 
one just noted? I was at that modest little capital of 
Holland, so trim and so suggestive of intelligence — 
The Hague. There is no city of more quaint dig- 
nity than The Hague: just the spot where the gentle- 
men of Holland may retire, as they do, when they have 
earned a competence. I was standing in front of the 
Royal palace, a poor, third-rate structure, clean and 
tasty within, but hardly deserving of the title of palace, 
and was solicitous of finding out when Holland's sweet 
new Queen — she who, the following September, on 



310 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

her arrival at eighteen years of age, was crowned at 
Amisterdam, and who, on a later September, was mar- 
ried at The Hague — took her daily drive. The answer 
of the palace doorkeeper was: " Wait a few minutes; 
it is now time for her to come in." Within five minutes 
her carriage came along. Her mother, Emma, Queen 
Regent, and Wilhelmina, sat side by side. There 
were two men on the box seat, one driving, and two 
footmen behind. Simplest simplicity; no ostentation 
whatever. She was dressed in plain white, in pleasant 
contrast with the red-lined landau in which she sat, 
and she bowed gracefully to all passers-by. After alight- 
ing, when the palace doors were thrown open, 
she entered, but before doing so faced about, looked 
at the dozen or two of her subjects and the few strang- 
ers who stood there, again smiled, bowed and passed 
in. 

Pretty Wilhelmina: how can we wonder that you 
early in life captured praises from many outside of 
your beloved Holland! In your peasant costume, you 
were just the winning kind of country Dutch girl 
which pleased the simple folk of your native land, and 
in your present charming conduct in every-day life, 
with smiles and good-will for everybody, should one 
not much rather be under your sway than that of any 
of the male monarchs of Christendom? 

Of her three palaces, at Amsterdam, The Hague, 
and, what is called " The Palace in the Wood," near 
The Hague, I have visited the two latter, and of them 
the last named is the more interesting. Her father's, 
William HI.'s, first wife, Sophia, Hved rather apart in 
this " Palace in the Wood," and there used to be many 
stories told of Queen Sophia's " queer " ways, and of 
her husband's taciturnity ; and of her never visiting the 
town palaces, while he rarely went to her palace. I do 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 311 

not know about its truth, but three visits to that '' Pal- 
ace in the Wood " have revealed to me many and 
many little touches of homelikeness not to be found else- 
where. It is a quaint and charming spot. The Ru- 
bens paintings there must have seemed all the bright- 
er and more gorgeous when Wilhelmina's wedding cer- 
emony with a Prince, whom Holland felt to be quite 
unworthy of his bride, was conducted within its walls 
a few years ago. 

The Queen is tall, clear in complexion, has fair 
hair and blue eyes, and is wholly free from dullness. 
Some of the Holland girls do not look bright but 
dull; she does not, but fresh, calm, sweet, interesting. 
She early learned to run a kitchen and keep house. She 
rides the bicycle, is a skillful rower, is passionately 
fond of pigeons and other birds and animals, and has 
superintended gardening. She writes and speaks — be- 
sides Dutch — English, German and French; sketches 
and paints; is especially fond of history. When she 
came to the throne she found a little Kingdom to gov- 
ern, but one whose history is second to none in Eu- 
rope. 

King George I., of Greece, has been on the throne 
of the Hellenic Kingdom for about forty years, and by 
this time ought to look somewhat aged. On the con- 
trary he is very tall, erect in bearing, and, while fifty- 
nine years of age, shows no signs of overwork, nor 
are his youthful forces abated. I happened to see him, 
with nearly all his family, disembark from an ordinary 
railway train at Pirseus, when they were going on board 
liis yacht for a day's outing. All the family were 
dressed plainly, Queen Olga, his beautiful wife, a Rus- 
sian lady, being in mourning. Queen Olga is a few 
years the junior of King George, and is even more 
a favorite with her subjects than her husband, because 



312 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

of her religion. She belongs to the Greek Church; 
King George, as a Dane, is a Protestant. It was only 
by the will of Queen Victoria that her second son, 
Prince Alfred, did not ascend the Hellenic throne, 
when popular feeling tendered him the position, but 
his mother would not let him take it. King Christian, 
of Denmark, always seems to have a boy or girl about 
to supply a vacant throne on the Continent, and so, 
to fill the gap, he was looked to, when, in 1863, the 
Greeks, having deposed their hateful King Otto, were 
searching around Europe after an able and willing 
prince. 

Probably the plainest crowned head in all Europe 
is that of King George. During the summer season 
twice a week he opens the door of the Royal mansion, 
which is as plain as that of the Queen of Holland, and 
invites to it all the reputable strangers in Athens, so 
as to shake hands with them and make them' feel at 
home. His eldest son, the Crown Prince Constan- 
tine, who is more portly than his father and looks 
every inch the picture of good health, as well as the 
other sons and one daughter, are all plain, every-day 
people, who have a host of friends in Athens and 
have their hours of relaxation the same as the com- 
mon people. The Queen, on the whole, has one of the 
most attractive faces of any of the members of the va- 
rious royal families in Europe. Noted for charity, she 
unites with the King in giving bounties to the poor, 
and in laying the foundations of noble institutions 
which will far outlive these two exemplary human 
lives. 

And now I must next mention — for I saw next— 
the good, great Queen, whom we Americans espe- 
cially delighted to honor: a friend to this country and 
to the world as well as to England, Victoria Alexan- 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 313 

drina. When she died she had been queen over six- 
ty-three years, the longest period of any single ruler 
in England, the next to it being that of George III., 
who reigned sixty years, from' 1760 to 1820. While 
her life had been shadowed by domestic griefs, she 
had an extraordinary amount of quietness and peace- 
ful home-rest, such as is denied to most sovereigns. 
Victoria's descent was, of course, not through all the 
royal lines of England — thrones descend in very queer 
and angular ways sometimes, and rarely go for several 
generations straight down from parent to child; but 
she counted among her direct ancestors the great Al- 
fred, Henry II., King John, the first three Edwards, 
Richard XL, Henry VII., Mary, Queen of Scots, James 
I., and others nearly as renowned. Her own father, 
however, Edward, Duke of Kent, was not a king; 
she took the throne upon the death of William IV., 
her uncle. 

Everybody now knows of that memorable night 
of June 20, 1837, when the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
who was at the death-bed of Wiliam at Windsor Cas- 
tle, twenty-five miles from London — the death oc- 
curred exactly at midnight — took the King's physician 
and the Lord Chamberlain and drove at breakneck 
speed to Kensington Palace in London to inform the 
young Princess Victoria that she was queen. No 
telegraphs or telephones in that day; only bad roads 
and jolting coaches. They reached the palace as the 
clocks were striking five. They knocked long and 
loud, and no one answered. Finally they secured ad- 
mittance, and insisted on personally seeing Victoria, 
who was asleep. She came in consternation to them, 
hurriedly throwing around herself a shawl, with her 
eyes full of tears and her loose hair in masses around 
her shoulders. A picture for an artist! Next morning 
20 



314 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

the great officers of state, the Lord Mayor, the Lords 
of Council and hundreds of others came to proclaim 
hea- Queen. They found her dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, and she gave her hand quietly to each official to 
kiss, as is yet the custom on such occasions. She was 
only eighteen, just the age of Wilhelmina of Holland, 
when she became queen, and the paintings of her in- 
dicate that, while perhaps not quite as lovely in fea- 
tures, she was bordering on it, and certainly she pos- 
sessed the intrinsically lofty character now also ascribed 
to the Netherlands' Queen. 

It was in this Kensington Palace where Victoria 
was born, at a time when the famous horse-chestnut 
trees, which to-day quite fill its gardens behind it, were 
" in snowy bloom." It is an ugly old building of sim- 
ple red brick, and never was pretty outside or within, 
but it was always a dear spot to Victoria. William 
III., Queen Anne and also George the Second died 
there. Now Kensington Palace is the residence of 
the Marquis of Lome and of broken-down members 
of the aristocracy, who have nowhere else to live on 
their government pensions ; perhaps it would be pulled 
down except for its sacred associations connected with 
the late Queen. 

While speaking of her palaces, she had, as resi- 
dences, her regular home at Windsor, her summer 
palace at Balmoral in the Scottish Highlands, and Os- 
borne, on the Isle of Wight, where she died. Beside 
these, her town residence was Buckingham Palace. 
Everyone in London has often seen Buckingham. 
Windsor I have visited many times, and familiar to 
many are the towers of Osborne, which is on the sea- 
side of the Isle of Wight. As stated before, none of 
these buildings are of any great credit to the architects, 
although from a distance Windsor looks lordly, and 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 3X5 

one can quite forgive the ugliness of its quadrangular 
courts because of the Great Park outside, which is the 
royalest thing about it. The oldest spot connected 
with it is the high, Round Tower, from which you can 
see into twelve counties of England, when English 
smoke will permit. Beside the Queen's private apart- 
ments, which were rarely visible, and never when she 
was in residence, there were at least sixteen state 
apartments readily accessible. The old Van Dyck 
paintings and the Rubens room obtained most praise; 
the Throne Room scarcely deserved the name. Per- 
haps the recent collection of gifts made to her at her 
golden and diamond celebrations by the sovereigns 
of Europe will interest one more than anything else, 
and, next, the Albert Memorial Chapel, where a 
magnificence of funereal art is profoundly touching. 

When one goes to Westminster Abbey he sees in 
the Chapel of Edward the Confessor the " Chair of 
the Coronation." Every king and queen since Edward 
I.'s day — he died in 1307 — has been crowned in that 
chair. It is just a plain, very large, oak chair, whose 
seat is a stone, known as " the Stone of Scone," be- 
cause it was placed in an abbey church at Scone (near 
Perth, in Scotland) in 850. The legend is that this is 
the very same stone on which the patriarch Jacob pil- 
lowed his head when he saw the vision of angels and 
the ladder. The first authentic history of it places it 
in Ireland, much over a thousand years ago. In this 
same chair Victoria was crowned in 1838, one year 
later than her accession. At that crowning, custom de- 
creed that the peers should kiss the sovereign's left 
cheek. There were six hundred peers. Do you won- 
der that a statement of this practice appalled her, 
especially as in England no custom is ever broken? 
However, she broke it, and the peers only kissed her 



316 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

hand. It took five hours to crown her and kiss her 
hand, and the first thing she did in her enthusiasm at 
getting through such a tedious ceremony was to throw 
down her robes and sceptre, and take her favorite dog 
Dash out for his usual bath! From that day until hei 
death, through all the blessed years of her married Hfe 
with noble Prince Albert, her husband and consort, 
and the days of mourning after his death, Victoria was 
a noble Christian woman, attending scrupulously to 
every duty and making no personal enemies. A model 
wife, mother and queen; everyone in England, or 
out of it, was always glad to say, silently or aloud, 
" God bless her!" 

My glimpse of her was during the year preceding 
the Diamond Jubilee Year, and at Windsor. Then I 
took station in the courtyard, where visiting strangers 
were wont to gather in those days to see the same 
spectacle; it was close by a tall iron fence, where 
one could have a view, at a distance of a hundred 
yards away, of the private door whence she was like- 
ly to emerge. Her little phaeton, in which she almost 
daily rode, and its pony, were there. In usual fashion, 
accompanied by one of her daughters or grandchil- 
dren, she soon appeared. She seemed like a shadow, 
or a small, black ghost. She was, as it seemed to me, 
such a wee bit of a thing that a stranger would hardly 
realize this was England's great Queen. She was in 
mourning, for that garb she had not removed in near- 
ly forty years. A black bonnet and a heavy veil com- 
pleted her simple attire. As she sat down in the phae- 
ton, she came only a little way above the back of the 
seat. Her form was bent: evidently the best part of 
her life was in the past. Her companion (it was her 
granddaughter Maud) took the reins and off they 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 317 

drove, two attendants on horseback following at a re- 
spectful distance, so as to assist in case of accident. 

Any other woman ruling- England might have 
made serious trouble for America in the Rebellion; 
might have delayed the war of liberty for Cuba ; might 
have disturbed, oftener than was done by her Cabinet, 
the peace of Europe. But she has been and will be in 
history simply plain Victoria, England's best queen of 
the last thousand years, v/hose unsoiled life amid great 
tempests and temptations Time will write in letters of 
gold. 

Probably the next reigning monarch to be men- 
tioned, whom I saw for the space of ten minutes only, 
was the Shah of Persia, Muzaffer Eddin, who suc- 
ceeded his father on the throne at Teheren in 1891. 
He is accustomed to visit Europe every few years, 
and in 1900 he went to Paris to see the Exposition, 
stopping on his way at other European capitals. It 
was at Cologne, when probably en route to Paris from 
Germany, that I unexpectedly had a glimpse of this 
exceedingly plain, dark-skinned and business-like 
looking ruler. He had arrived at the railway station, 
and had already entered an ordinary barouche, drawn 
by two horses, with one coachman and an associate, 
who were in the usual style of livery of drivers of the 
barouches of the wealthy in Berlin or in London, t 
should have passed the carriage and occupants any- 
where under the supposition that they were merchants 
of the ordinary sort, not belonging even to the nobili- 
ty, had I not observed the crowd looking on, and 
learned from a lady shopkeeper that the Shah had ar- 
rived. He was being driven to the leading hotel, the 
" Dom." He, with some other gentleman, a city nota- 
bility, was seated in the vehicle, in plain black clothes, 
wearing the regulation silk hat, and with no marks 



318 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

whatever of royalty. He looked tired; it seemed 
to be an effort for him to bow as the crowd cheered. 
It is said of the Shah, who is now fifty-one years of 
age, that he inherited from his father jewels and specie 
to the value of fifteen millions of dollars, and that he 
is otherwise the richest sovereign in the world, even 
including the Czar of Russia. However this may be, 
he has a great deal to learn in Europe of conveniences 
and modern progress, and the wonder is he is so slow 
in putting the knowledge thus gained intO' practice at 
home. 

About one year later a sovereign, who is not a 
king in the usual sense, was before the people in the 
largest court of the Vatican, and I was one of per- 
haps fifteen thousand who had the genuine pleasure of 
viewing for nearly half an hour the wan, white, peaked 
face of the greatest of modern Popes. I place him 
among the " kings and queens," because his authority 
overspread more territory and more peoples than that 
of any secular monarch. In any list of great modern 
potentates Leo. XIII. may not be omitted. His rule 
traversed all climes and his sway was over more than 
two hundred millions of subjects. I counted it a for- 
tunate hour which gave me a sight of one whose 
years were so full of historic memories, and who, with 
one foot in the grave, still held on to life and papal 
authority with the vigor of a lawgiver of Old Testa- 
ment times. Leo XIII. had about finished his earth- 
ly race ; he was nearing his end ; yet how much of vi- 
tality, virility and bonhomie he put into those last days ! 

It was a seething crowd. Everybody was admitted 
only by ticket, but the cardinals and prelates had so 
distributed those tickets, at about seven francs apiece, 
that the net income from them must have been at least 
one himdred and five thousand francs ; for all that the 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 319 

square would hold, and hundreds beside, held those 
little purchased pieces of white paper that gave admit- 
tance to the function. The occasion was the ending 
of the student year in, I believe, the College of the 
Propoganda, and the event was the distribution of 
the leading prize, or prizes, to the one or two stu- 
dents who had obtained the highest degree of merit 
for proficiency in studies. The young man — quite 
young, I should suppose not over fifteen years of age 
— who was the leading prize-winner, had given an 
oration in St. Peter's that same morning, and I had 
by merest chance heard his address. I had gone in- 
to the Cathedral to hear music and the usual services ; 
instead, I found the various priests and functionaries 
gathered together under the dome, seated, while from 
an improvised platform a bright fellow, in ordinary 
dress, was gesturing and evidently making an oration. 
It was in Latin, but distinctly rendered and with a 
good deal of fervor. His theme concerned the Apostle 
Peter, and it was said by competent judges to have 
been dignified, learned and in excellent language. It 
was gratifying to see the same young lad, a few hours 
afterward, take his prize — I do not know what it was, 
perhaps a medal — from the hands of the Head of the 
Romish Church; and when he did it I could see his 
face flush and a natural pride well up from his heart 
as he bowed his most profound gratitude. 

A large band, perhaps of fifty pieces, was sta- 
tioned at the far end of the court, and rendered stir- 
ring music in advance of the Pope's appearance. This 
appearance was upon a balcony, high over the heads 
of the people, three, or perhaps four, stories above the 
ground. There were arriving from time to time on 
that balcony a number of cardinals, in their bright red 
garments, before the entrance of the Pope; indeed 



320 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

they flitted hither and yon, talking and viewing the 
crowd below; and as the balcony was covered with an 
immense crimson velvet cloth, with gold figures and 
fringe, this spectacle repaid for all the crush and tire- 
someness of the occasion. It was tiresome because the 
spectators had to stand jostled together at least an 
hour before the final exercises began. At the final 
moment, however. His Holiness was brought out on a 
chair, and " the welkin rang " with huzzas and with 
shouts of " Viva il Papa-Re ! " while the band played 
and everyone strained on tiptoe to see clearly the face 
and form of the venerable Pontiff — the poet, the fin- 
ished letter-writer, the master of many languages, the 
peacemaker, in a word the most famed head of the 
Roman Church in Christendom since the days of 
Gregory the Great. His face was precisely like his 
pictures. He had a narrow head, a prominent nose, 
small, bright eyes, a mouth that had the pecuHar smile 
which in current thought is inseparable with Jesuitism, 
unusually large ears, and a distinctly pale, alabaster- 
like face. His dress was pure white, his coif white, 
and throughout his frame the weakness of age was ap- 
parent. His long and tapering fingers were at 
once raised in the Papal form of blessing, but he 
seemed unwilling to continue that posture in a sitting 
position lest his evident weakness should be too clear- 
ly visible. He raised himself from his seat, and re- 
peated the blessing, while the multitude were over- 
flowing with enthusiasm. Again and again he re- 
sponded to the public cries by raising himself up and 
pronouncing the blessing, and, when the lull in the 
Babel of sounds permitted, his voice was distinctly 
audible, even two hundred yards away. He then gave 
the prizes, but the few words uttered to the young 
man and to other students in the vicinity were not 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 321 

such that I could hear even a syllable of them. Sur- 
rounding the Pope were at least a dozen or more 
cardinals, all standing, two or three of whom were 
carefully assisting him to his seat after each rising, 
and who finally bore him back into the rooms of the 
Vatican. 

Subsequently — less than one year later, on July 20, 
1903 — Leo XIII. died at the ripe old age of ninety-two. 
I was at the Italian Lakes when the news came, on 
August 4th, that the successor to Leo XIII., Gio- 
seppe Sarto, of Venice, had been selected; and when, 
one week before I reached Rome, Pius X. was coro- 
nated, Leo had previously been interred with solemn 
ceremonies in a niche over the arch near the Chapel 
del Coro in St. Peter's. With a simple marble plate, 
on which the name " Leo XIII." only appears, the 
body of this great Pope will lie there until the time 
comes for its permanent interment in the basilica of St. 
John Lateran, in the place chosen by himself as his 
final resting place. Two Sundays after this interment 
I viewed the provisionary tomb in St. Peter's, and felt, 
as all the world still feels, that a great scholar and man 
had passed away. History will surely award him a 
high place in the pantheon of papal sovereigns. 

King Alfonso XIII., of Spain, who is the young- 
est of the sovereigns of Europe, is the only king on the 
Continent who was born in the purple. His father, 
Alfonso XII., died about six months before his birth. 
His mother became Queen Regent until he was six- 
teen years of age, when, on May 17, 1902, he took up- 
on himself the full authority of a king. A few months 
later I had an excellent opportunity to see his young 
face, and erect but rather boyish bearing, in his own 
capital of Madrid. He had gone with his usual ret- 
inue of attendants to open a charity fair in the Parque 



322 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

de Madrid^ and, as he came out of the building, en- 
tered his carriage and was driven away, I stood within 
a few yards of him, and saw his mother and himself 
for a number of minutes. He had the fresh face of a 
college lad; he was courteous to everyone who bowed 
or spoke to him, and the impression made upon me 
was that of one to whom the duties of a sovereign had 
already become irksome. I think he would have liked 
that very day to have been playing ball, or galloping 
off quite alone in the country, freed of all the etiquette 
of the court. His education is said to have been of the 
best; his will is resolute; and those who come in con- 
tact with him declare that his mind is unusually bright 
and alert. That he was popular was proved by the 
enthusiastic concourse gathered to see him on this 
mere trifling occasion, notwithstanding that he is in 
one place or another in Madrid, at functions or riding 
out, nearly every day of the year. His photographs 
show him exactly as he is, and they usually exhibit a 
military^ cadet rather than a king. He likes to drive a 
four-in-hand, delights in hunting, is a good shot, is 
nearly six feet in height, slender, walks erect, is quick 
in his movements, and, it is said, has his own way in 
everything. He dislikes bull-fights, which is greatly 
to his credit. What, if anything, he will do to advance 
Spain — poor, backward, idle, musical, lackadaisical 
Spain — among the more alert nations of the worlds 
remains to be seen; it is too early yet to predict his 
future. 

President Emile Loubet, of France, is sixty-six 
years of age, and has a face not unlike that of any 
thoughtful, cheerful Frenchman. While, of course, I 
had " almost " seen him upon the boulevards of Pa- 
ris, where every day he takes an afternoon drive, it 
happened that the only real glimpse I ever had of him 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 323 

was in London, when, in company with King Ed- 
ward, he was driving about the city to receive the 
plaudits of the English people. He was dressed in 
" citizens' clothes," with white cravat, as a plain 
" President," just as a president of any other free 
country appears when driving out. He was but a 
peasant lad, raised on a farm halfway between Mar- 
seilles and Paris. He was sent to college, studied 
law, practiced his profession, became a deputy, (equiv- 
alent in America to Member of Congress), went to the 
Senate, entered the Cabinet of the Executive, and in 
1899 became President of France, with a position not 
unequal to that of a sovereign of Europe. He is not 
a genius, not a brilliant orator, but a statesman, firm 
and of the highest character. 

And now to the last, and, in some respects, most 
dominant factor in European politics and statecraft, 
King Edward VH., ruler of more territory than even 
that of the Czar of Russia. The Czar rules over 130,- 
000,000 of people ; the King of England exercises sway, 
domestic and colonial, over 300,000,000 of people. The 
Czar governs 8,000,000 of square miles of territory; 
King Edward's government extends to 11,000,000 of 
square miles of territory. On his lands, as now on 
those of America, the sun never sets. 

When Edward VH. came up to London from his 
month's rest in the harbor of Cowes, after the opera- 
tion for appendicitis which might have cost him his 
life, he drove from Victoria station by Hyde Park 
Corner to Buckingham Palace. It was a roundabout 
way to reach his home in the city, but he so journeyed 
to prove to his admiring people that he had wholly re- 
covered, and was really fit to take part in the pubHc 
ceremony of the Coronation. I stood near the Pal- 
ace and saw him, with his Queen, pass into and 



324 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

through the great iron gates in front, his face radiant 
with happiness, bowing to right and left in response 
to the hearty huzzas of the people. There remained 
on his countenance no traces of the weary days and 
nights of pain which followed the surgeon's knife. 
Apparently he was in perfect health. His cheeks were 
ruddy, bronzed a bit by the salt sea-winds. He was 
animated, as if conscious of the tributes of devotion 
tendered him by his loyal'subjects, yet wholly at ease. 
A merry King, one might almost say, as why should 
not a ruler be, who governed so immense an empire, 
every portion of which was again at peace? The 
African war had ended, the soldiers were returning 
home, and hope and presage of prosperity were clasp- 
ing hands, while the people once more uttered, " God 
save the King!" He had stepped into his carriage 
from the railway train with composure and alacrity, 
even surprising his attendants, and he rode down Con- 
stitution Hill as a conqueror returning from a victory. 
The King wore a dark frock coat, and a white 
waistcoat underneath; over these, but thrown Hghtly 
back, was a thin, dark overcoat. He carried his black 
silk hat in hand, and had so ridden for the whole fif- 
teen minutes of his rapid carriage journey. Rapid 
it was, for the two bay chargers that pulled the royal 
carriage were upon a stiff trot, and they paused not 
till the precious pair were safely within the inner court 
of the palace grounds. Alexandra, Queen, did not 
wear a face so radiant. While she possesses a most 
sweet and tender countenance, far younger than her 
years — she is fifty-eight, yet looks to be hardly forty 
— this day she appeared altogether thoughtful, serious, 
pensive. Her black dress and toque were sombre, 
only relieved in color by a few carnations worn at 
the bosom and in her head-dress. The two occupied 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 325 

a black landau, not a coach. There were outriders on 
horseback, fine specimens of cavalrymen. The liver- 
ies of the drivers were no better than those often seen 
when English gentlemen are driving in Hyde Park or 
on the Embankment. There had been showers until 
the hour of the royal procession, when they ceased, but 
within ten minutes after it had passed there was again 
a prodigious downpour, which is something English- 
men always take at such times good-naturedly and as 
a matter of course. Through all the rain hundreds 
of people remained before the palace, hoping the 
King would show himself again from one of the bal- 
conies. 

King Edward, as is well-known, came to the 
throne with the good wishes of all England and of all 
the nations. And the tidal wave of sympathy which 
swept over the British Empire and the Americas at the 
announcement that the surgeon needed to put his life 
at tremendous risk before he could be crowned, 
raised him higher in public esteem than any subse- 
quent sovereign acts of his are likely to accomplish. 
It is true many feared that as sovereign he might 
prove weak, or not sufficiently conservative. But his 
sickness brought forth unflinching heroism, and his 
published thoughts at this juncture, which were first 
for his people and next for himself, overturned all sus- 
picions and allayed all possible animosities. While 
I was not in England during the week of serious so- 
lemnity following the announcement of his grave ill- 
ness — but in Spain — I read the English newspapers 
and heard Europeans talk, and the uppermost thought 
was, the sincere, the profound hope, that his life might 
be spared ; and I am sure the world said, *'Amen ! " to 
the numerous public prayers for his recovery. 

On the actual Coronation Day of Edward all Eng- 



326 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

land was vocal with hymns. Every cathedral and 
church was the theatre of prayer. Every city was gay 
with bunting. Every store and shop, bank and manu- 
factory, with slight exceptions, was closed, for the 
entire nation took in happiest mood an extra holiday. 
London for some days preceding began to put on, for 
a second time, bright colors, chiefly red and blue, es- 
pecially where the line of march would be, and the 
trimmings were always gay, and sometimes costly. 
Unfortunately, although near at hand, I did not see, or 
endeavor to see, the Coronation procession. My friends 
and I preferred the beauties of the Isle of Wight in- 
stead. Nevertheless, I learned from other sources 
of it and know that it was a magnificent sight. 
Perhaps, after all, the long closing of Westminster 
Abbey to the public — from early in May until after the 
middle of August — was compensated for by the grand- 
est regal display since Elizabeth's day. 

I was at Ventnor on Coronation morning. Bunt- 
ing on the streets and from hotel and private windows 
was as plentiful and as beautiful as poppies in the 
wheatfields of Spain, or as " the lilies of the field " in 
the uplands of Palestine. The mottoes most frequent 
were: "God save the King," "Long live the King 
and Queen," " Vivet Rex," and " E. R." The same 
exuberance of enthusiasm as displayed in decorations 
on the streets was shown in every place we passed that 
day — on a coaching drive — even to the smaller ham- 
lets. In the evening at Ventnor there were colored 
fires on the hillsides and brilliant illuminations. An 
immense blaze of light on the side of St. Boniface 
Down read, " Edward VIL", and it could have been 
seen miles and miles out at sea, so large and bright 
were the electric letters. Special music on the pier 
ended with " God save the King," and at nine forty- 



GLIMPSES AT SOME POTENTATES 327 

five o'clock from a score of hilltops over the whole is- 
land there were bonfires illuminating the sky. Vent- 
nor was so deep down below the surrounding hills 
that we could not see the pyres, but we saw during our 
drive the great piles of wood ready for the conflagra- 
tion, and the newspapers afterward recorded that the 
hills were everywhere ablaze in the United Kingdom 
from John o' Groat's to Land's End. 

The next summer I saw the King again, this time 
in a carriage with President Loubet of France. The 
latter was being saluted by the people of London. 
The King looked hale and hearty, and not a person in 
the vast concourse of spectators lining the streets ap- 
peared to entertain other than the most cordial good 
feeling toward him and the Prince of Wales, who fol- 
lowed him. There are those who have predicted the 
downfall of monarchy in England with the end of his 
reign, be it far or near, but there are no signs of such 
a collapse. In fact constitutional monarchy, as it now 
exists in Great Britain, with liberty secured to the full- 
est extent to every individual, is in no more danger of 
wreckage than is what we call liberty in the United 
States. 

Summing up, then, on the whole kings and queens 
are not different in private looks or public manners 
from other people of their age and country. If hedged 
about by an idealism which some suppose proclaims 
semi-divinity, they are in fact intensely and wholly 
human. The most of them are as approachable to 
friends as are other people, and as strong or weak in 
moral and mental qualities as the best and frailest of 
fellow mortals. The boy at school may fondly dream 
that to have seen Canute, or Alfred the Great, or even 
Edward VIL, would be to have seen and to know a 
genuine hero, wonderful to look upon, or a giant. 



328 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

bigger in brain and sterner in countenance than pres- 
idents or archbishops, or generals. The man who 
travels, however, and views them even occasionally, 
soon learns to surround them with no further halo 
than that of a title, which withers when it is not hon- 
ored, and which at most is but a cloak, put on by day 
and as easily put off in the dark. The vast majority 
of all kings have been plain people; no better, some- 
times much worse, than such of their fellows as were 
winning their daily bread by hard and honorable toil 

"What is a king? A man clothed on with power; 
It may be for a decade or an hour. 
Whate'er the time, howe'er the purple robe 
Is worn, the emperor of all the globe 
Shall wince and fall except for Virtue's dower." 



XVIII.— DAYS IN HAVANA. 

WHOEVER ARRIVES in the harbor of Ha- 
vana before the morning stars have ceased 
to shine, and sees the innumerable Hghts 
along the shore, that glitter and twinkle as if they bade 
the stranger welcome by their radiance; and then, 
as the red-streaked dawn flares out with the supernat- 
ural light of the tropics, makes out, point by point, 
fort by fort, queer gray buildings, bits of sea-wall, 
ugly mouths of cannon, and, beyond them, green 
hills, sloping upward, discovers that he is in a new 
world, and is agreeably surprised and charmed. Dur- 
ing the two or three hours required to pass through 
the red tape of quarantine he has plenty of time to 
grow familiar with the harbor, and soon learns that 
it is compact, pear-shaped, about three miles long by 
half a mile broad, and quite impregnable, because 
Morro Castle effectually bars its narrow entrance, 
which is only one-quarter mile across. In the har- 
bor, indeed, could ride at anchor five hundred men- 
of-war, and still there would be room; the water is 
everywhere from thirty-five to forty feet in depth. He 
observes that Havana is an attractive city in its gen- 
eral appearance from the sea, and, if the wreck of 
the Maine excites him to some anger, he is obliged to 
concede that the United States was in possession of 
Havana quite long enough to have removed the ob- 
struction, but failed to do so. Of course the Spaniards 
would not remove it, and there seems to be no good 
reason why Uncle Sam did not. 

21 



330 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

In the tropics, sunrise and sunset during February 
are apt to be equally gorgeous. Every day while I 
was in Havana the early mornings were of unusual 
splendor and the evening sun always set on flame the 
whole western heavens. While Havana was founded 
in 1 5 19, it did not rise to the rank of a commercial 
capital until about the beginning of America's Revolu- 
tionary War, when the large expenditures then made 
by the Spanish king upon this port increased its popu- 
lation twofold. It never had, and does not now pos- 
sess, good hotels, from the American point of view. 
The main hotels, both conducted by Spaniards, are the 
" Inglaterra '' and the " Pasaje; " but I had far more 
satisfaction in making the journey daily away from the 
hot centre of the city, by way of the west coast, to the 
Vedado. The Vedado is the suburb, the American 
quarter, where the ground is higher and air cooler. 
There is always a breeze in the Vedado, especially 
alongshore, sometimes a strong one, and it cools one 
through and through just to take a seat on an open 
trolley-car and be whirled along at the rate of fifteen 
miles per hour, while the waves are dashing in on the 
coast, and the salt air penetrates to the lowermost 
part of your lungs. There is one fair hotel there, the 
" Trotcha," kept by a Spaniard of the same name, a man 
of sixty-five, who is evidently making money. No 
hotel kept by a Spaniard is as clean as it ought to be, 
but this one was rather above the average. The 
grounds were full of tropical plants and flowers, 
kiosks, fountains, trees with variegated foliage and 
curious designs in garden-beds, with walks of reddish 
sand. In the evening the bright lights and cheerful 
music of violin and harp made it an attractive spot. 
Of course the hotel had a man chambermaid, and he 
was a regular Cuban; for that reason he was of little 



DAYS IN HAVANA 331 

utility or consequence. I soon found out, indeed, that 
the Spaniards were the valuable people in Havana, 
and doubtless the rule holds throughout Cuba. The 
poorer class of Cubans are lazy, indifferent to sanitary 
matters, proud without any basis for it, incapable of 
success in business. The Spaniards are the merchants 
and property holders in Havana. They seem to have 
ambition, grit, intelligence, stick-to-itativeness and so 
succeed. The Cubans as a rule have none of these 
virtues. They are degenerates. This knowledge came 
as a great revelation tO' me, for I presumed the Span- 
iards were a proud, arrogant lot, who were unpopular 
and poor, and that the Cubans were the thrifty, bone- 
and-sinew class, who would in the New Republic " fit- 
ly constitute the state." President Palma, who has 
lived so many decades in America, is an exception (I 
believe he is a native Cuban), but he must have learned 
how to dare, to do and to be, through his personal 
contact with American life. His race is not one to 
engage much sympathy from those who know it in- 
timately. Ask any resident American in Havana, and 
the foregoing will be corroborated by his saying: " Cu- 
ban — no good; do business only with a Spaniard." 

Of course the streets and the street Hfe most inter- 
est one in Havana. These are novel from first to last. 
Besides being narrow and with scarcely any sidewalks, 
except on the Prado, the streets are always lively, 
especially tov/ard sundown, and the senoritas who are 
then visible — say after five p. m. — are often beautiful 
and rarely ugly. They dress well and have charming 
black eyes. The lace mantilla becomes them and 
sets their coquettish figures off to good advantage. 
Havana girls grow old young ; at fifteen they are fully 
matured and at twenty-five are passee. Their worst 
feature, as to looks, is the profuse use of paint and 



332 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

powder. Cuban girls are not as pretty as the Spanish; 
they have less education, dress less well, and possess 
less natural genius. 

Black people are numerous ; they are regular West 
India negroes. But I saw no beggars among black or 
white. It is singular how the pride of all the Cuban 
population, many of whom must be extremely poor, 
keeps them from vagabondage. They have an air 
of doing things whether they really do them or not. 
For a place of 300,000 people, and after a demoralizing 
war, it seemed strange to find everybody industrious 
and fairly well clothed. 

Obispo street is the shopping street, and it is cu- 
rious from its narrowness and the overhanging flags, 
banners and awnings, that stretch in places entirely 
across the way and furnish shade below. Here are 
fan shops, where any amount of money can be spent 
for a single fan. I presum^e they are imported from 
Spain, where fans are made in such quantities, and 
with such richness of material as are not equalled else- 
where in the world. As the street is not wide enough 
for carriages to pass, they go down this street and 
return by another. Cubans rarely walk; never if they 
can hire a cab. Accordingly Obispo street is usually 
jammed with a continuous line of carriages, each con- 
taining, as a rule, one person, and in stopping before 
a shop the carriage often must go on to a turning and 
there take refuge in a side street, otherwise other car- 
riages could not get by. English is rarely spoken by 
the Spanish merchants. They simply will not learn 
the language. It handicaps them for business, but they 
do not care. Americans have few shops in the city; I 
doubt if there are twenty where anyone speaks Eng- 
lish. The American colony in Havana is large, some 
say five thousand strong, but the men are employed in 



DAYS IN HAVANA 333 

financial institutions, or large industrial enterprises, 
and are not among the merchants. 

I was most pleased to see the effect of the Wood 
regime on the cleanliness of these streets, which had 
been so notoriously bad that yellow fever was a matter 
of course with every summer. They were as absolute- 
ly free of garbage, or sewerage, as if they had been 
located in — I will not say in New York, for they were 
infinitely cleaner than the down-town streets of New 
York, but — Baden Baden, Germany, or an average 
village in England. However, General Wood is not 
now military governor, and the Cubans are in control, 
and it is said there are already signs of deterioration 
in the street-cleaning department, at which one can 
hardly wonder. 

The Prado is an elegant, wide promenade. I was 
intensely interested there one Sunday afternoon to see 
the Havanese enjoy the carnival. It was the Sunday 
before Ash Wednesday, which is, I believe, the lead- 
ing carnival day of the year. Every description of 
carriage was out on promenade. Drivers and riders 
wore masks and dominoes, and various grotesque 
dresses. The horses and carriages were decorated 
with bunting and flowers, and streamers of all colors. 
The carriages, went by four rows deep on each side of 
|:he Prado; on the outside row the single carriages, 
and between them the tandems, tallyhos, automobiles 
and floats. Every window and balcony was crowded 
and the sidewalks were jammed with a living mass 
of humanity. It was a good-natured crowd; every- 
body was jesting and throwing confetti and serpen- 
tinas from carriage back to carriage; and even from 
high balconies they were tossed down to the crowds 
below. Confetti was everywhere on the ground like 
colored snow; the hubs of carriages were tangled with 



334 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

streamers of light-hued paper, and they became 
twisted around the whips and beribboned the horses. 
This performance is said to be repeated for several 
Sundays in succession through Lent, the people never 
seeming to tire of it; what it has to do with the observ- 
ance of Lent I have yet to learn. 

Every evening the band plays at the Parque Colon 
or somewhere along or near the Prado. There are 
seven theatres and all are said to be well patronized. 

I would not like to say how many tobacco manu- 
facturies there are in the city, but they are numerous 
and some of them are of enormous size. As cigars are 
mainly exported, while the cigarettes are chiefly for 
home consumption, there is probably as much profit 
in one kind as in the other. I went through 
two of the establishments, where hundreds of men and 
women, the latter being mostly girls of from fourteen 
to sixteen years of age, were employed, and the im- 
pression made upon me was that enough cigarettes 
and cigars were made to supply all the earth and more 
beside. Yet, doubtless, the supply in Havana is not a 
tithe of what is required to supply the whole world; 
we little realize the extent of the tobacco habit among 
the civilized millions of people. In one manufac- 
tory alone four hundred operatives, by the aid of im- 
proved machinery, make from 2,000,000 to 2,500,000 
cigarettes a day. The process is interesting, more 
so than the making of cigars by hand. The girls earn 
two dollars per day. 

The only pretty church I saw in Havana was the 
Mercedes, through whose dome falls a soft, yellow 
light. That dome is full of paintings of angels. There 
are also handsome paintings and beautiful mahogany 
confessionals in this church, and I am told it is the 
rhost fashionable church in the city. I 'also went to 



DAYS IN HAVANA 335 

the Cathedral, but found Httle of interest in it, not 
even its date, 1724. There are many other churches 
in that city, the most interesting to me being the one 
where, in a sealed-up place in the wall, the bones of Co- 
lumbus had rested from 1796 to 1898, when they were 
taken to Seville in Spain. 

The two prettiest places in which to sit down for 
an hour in the open are: Parque Colon (Columbus 
Square), full of both cocoa and date palms and rub- 
ber trees, an entrancing spot at all times by day or 
night; and Parque de la Punto, facing the harbor en- 
trance, and looking directly toward Morro Castle and 
Cabafias fortress. In the latter square there is a con- 
stant sea-breeze, and the sea-breezes of Havana are 
among the most genial and soothing of any I ever ex- 
perienced. When one tires of sitting in either place, 
a short walk will take him to the fruit and flower mar- 
kets, and these, especially the former, are curious spec- 
tacles. Guavas, mameys, cocoanuts, bananas, oranges, 
yams, and many fruits unknown to us of a colder 
country, are to be found there. But the best fruit of 
all in Cuba is the orange, which is extremely juicy 
and sweet, and which is held on a fork and sucked, 
after the rind has been removed. 

One day I went over to Morro Castle and to Ca- 
bafias; the latter by far the more extensive fortress, 
but, I presume, about as valueless now for purposes 
of modern warfare as Morro. I went into Morro's 
dungeons, saw the room where prisoners were said 
to have been starved for two weeks before being exe- 
cuted, noticed the old cannon balls of two hundred 
years ago and worn-out guns galore. The fact is, the 
Spanish were so clearly behind the age in the style of 
their guns on these fortifications that it is surprising 
Uncle Sam did not, early in the Cuban war, rush past 



336 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Morro and capture the city. I fail to see what was to 
hinder — unless we didn't want the city at that time. 
Morro is much the older, though it looks so much 
newer. It was built between 1589 and 1597, but has 
been so renovated during the past century that it has, 
externally, little appearance of great age. Cabanas 
fortress, dating from 1763, is larger and much more 
interesting than Morro. It cost more. Charles III., 
of Spain, asked if it were made of silver, for it almost 
impoverished him of the money he got from Mexico 
(his largest source of revenue) to pay the bills for its 
construction, which some authorities have put at the 
enormous sum of $40,000,000, while the lowest calcu- 
lation is $14,000,000. This amount, together with 
enough more to make in all $108,000,000, is said to 
have been expended during a few years succeeding 
1763 on the harbor defences of Havana, and surely it 
ought to have been made by that time much more 
impregnable than Gibraltar. Cabafias has some grand 
shade trees and many artistic corners, and covers at 
least fifteen acres of ground. In this fortress the Span- 
ish were accustomed to have the Cuban soldiers, cap- 
tured in war, stand up with their backs to a stone wall 
to be shot. The exact point by the wall is marked. 
The grass-grown place where this occurred, contain- 
ing about one-half acre of ground, is accounted by Cu- 
bans sacred soil. 

The yellow and white house of President Palma 
was the old Governor-Generars residence. It is in the 
heart of the city, and, with its patio and imposing 
front, is sufficiently stylish for any official residence 
in a country where the people rule. 

Carriages with which to go out of the city, like 
most other things, are extortionately high. From 
seventeen to twenty dollars for two carriages holding 



DAYS IN HAVANA 337 

four persons each for a three to four hours' drive — I 
know of nothing quite so expensive in any other civ- 
ilized country. The one drive I took was to Marianao, 
about nine miles out from Havana, a pineapple grove, 
and thence two miles farther to a large Spanish sugar 
mill. The pineapples were the most luscious I ever 
tasted, being dead-ripe on the vines and as large as the 
largest sized cocoanut, but with more diameter. The 
sugar mill was running with powerful engines, crush- 
ing the cane that was being brought to it by carts 
drawn by oxen. The cane, when crushed, is used for 
fuel. The juice is first boiled in large vats, then in 
smaller ones, and finally comes out sugar, in two 
grades, a light brown and a dark brown. This mill 
did not make white sugar. Its capacity was said by 
one man to be twelve hundred, and by another five 
hundred, bags of sugar (three hundred pounds to the 
bag) per day. The machinery of the mill was not up- 
to-date, and I was told that, in consequence, the sugar 
industry was not as profitable as it should be. At 
Marianao, General Fitzhugh Lee long had his head- 
quarters, and it was later occupied by the United 
States Minister; the m.ansion is a large and beautiful 
one, of the old-fashioned colonial type. 

On the way out I stopped awhile at the Cemetery 
of Havana, a large and shady place, where people are 
now buried, and, I believe, remain buried. Formerly 
the graves were only rented, and when the rented sea- 
son passed, the bodies were dug up and the bones 
thrown over a high wall into a smaller cemetery, into 
which no one could see or enter. A real Parsee ar- 
rangement, and of course the vultures cleaned the 
bones! This is now stopped by law. Some magnifi- 
cent tombs, notably one about fifty feet high to fire- 
men w^ho lost their lives in a noted fire in Havana a 



338 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

number of years ago, and which was made in Italy of 
Carrara marble, are to be seen in various portions of 
the grounds. The monument to General Gomez is 
a grand one. The '' Tomb of the Innocents " made 
one's heart shiver; it is to the eight Cuban boys of 
eleven and twelve years of age, students, who were 
said to have broken some glass over a Spanish gener- 
al's tomb, and who were arrested and deliberately 
shot by the Spanish troops, as if they were court-mar- 
tialled traitors to their country. The gateway to^ this 
cemetery, of Norman-Aztec architecture (fancy the 
combination!) is really impressive; it is built of a red- 
dish stone. I saw curious burial vaults, or rather 
cemented graves, here, that show the economy which 
the Spanish exercise even as to their dead. Usually 
they are a profligate lot, or were in flush times, but 
it is no longer so. The grave is of unusual length,, 
divided into, first, a grave of ordinary size, and, sec- 
ond, an extension of about two feet square. Both 
graves are deep, say ten feet, and thoroughly ce- 
mented to keep out moisture. An interment is made 
in the long grave. When another member of the fam- 
ily dies, the bones of the first deceased are taken up 
and put in the smaller grave. In this climate, and es- 
pecially if buried without coffins, the bodies soon be- 
come only bones, so that the transfer is easy; or, when 
there are coffins, they are frail and do not last long. 

The city supports a large Maternity hospital, where 
children are left (when infants, a few hours old) by 
their mothers at a small, two by two, sidedoor and no 
questions asked; a Lepers' hospital, for there are 
lepers not a few, and a Widows' home, which is a 
palatial residence, where widows unable to support 
themselves may go and be kept at government ex- 



DAYS IN HAVANA 339 

pense. Charities abound, although there are no street 
disclosures of objects of charity. 

On the whole, what attracted me most in Havana 
was, first, the charming atmosphere which I found 
there in February. It was much less enervating and 
more vitalizing than the air of Florida. The trade- 
winds seem to have more in them that satisfied the 
physical want for a cooling breeze, and they came 
every afternoon with the regularity of clockwork. 
Next, the oddity of the street scenes. Next, the tropi- 
cal foliage, always a delightful change for one who 
leaves the region of New York City, where there is 
no foliage at all in midwinter. I had left the latter 
city with a foot of snow on its streets; in Havana, of 
course, snow is unknown and there is perpetual sum- 
mer. Havana, by the way, is just within the Hmits of 
the tropics; the Tropic of Cancer extends through the 
sea from east to west only about forty miles north of 
that city. So far as I know, there is no finer winter 
climate in the world than on the island of Cuba. 



XIX.— TO *'JOY IN THE WATER/^ 

THIS IS SUCH a delightful name for an enter- 
prising mountain city, that I cannot pass it by 
as the title for an opening description of Mexi- 
co. Not that it is ever used by the people, and not 
that the real present title is not euphonious, for " Ori- 
zaba " is as delightful to pronounce as the place is 
charming to visit. Originally it was "Ahauializapan," 
which has been corrupted to Orizaba, and the differ- 
ence is perceptible. Try each word and see how the 
tongue twists in the one case, and how the syllables 
meet in the mouth in the other. But " Joy in the Wa- 
ter," which is what the ancient Indian name means, is 
more mellifluous still. 

To reach Orizaba most comfortably from New 
York, one takes steamer to Vera Cruz, (which first 
touches at Havana and Progreso), and on the way 
across the Gulf of Mexico meets smooth seas and 
breathes delicious air. I made the trip in early March, 
and found it warm, but if dressed in the thinnest possi- 
ble clothing, it will prove a voyage full of suggestions 
of bliss. There is a constant breeze, and the state- 
rooms have not only large windows, some of them 
opening upon the deck, but slatted doors, through 
which the soft wind passes to and fro upon the sleeper 
throughout the night, with the soughing that is sug- 
gestive of the gentle rustling of cocoa palms. The 
Ward steamers are new, clean, roomy, airy, and meet 
every desirable want, unless it be of warm baths, for 
which there is no provision. Cold sea-water baths are 
furnished as a matter of course. 



TO "JOY IN THE WATER" 341 

It was on this initial trip to Mexico that I was first 
enabled to see the famous Southern Cross. It is said 
to be visible in southern Florida at a certain season 
of the year, but the latitude of Vera Cruz is some eight 
degrees further south than Palm Beach, and, in March, 
the constellation moves up from the horizon to a spot 
well elevated in the southern heavens by midnight. 
"At eleven o'clock at night, and later," said the cap- 
tain of the " Vigilancia," " look out of your door, due 
south, and you will see what is disappointing." I saw 
it, and confessed at first to the feeling of disappoint- 
ment, but it was momentary. I had supposed the shape 
was more perfectly that of a cross, and that the stars 
were close together (as those of the Pleiades), but 
they were wide-apart, dull stars of the second mag- 
nitude, less bright than if they had been more directly 
overhead, owing to the greater density of the atmos- 
phere toward the horizon. I could believe that in the 
Southern Hemisphere they might be almost as bril- 
liant as some of our finest northern constellations. 

Vera Cruz is a point without any special attrac- 
tions, save that of an old Spanish fort, " a successor to 
one erected by Cortez," and some white buildings on 
the island of San Juan de Ulua. The city looks well 
from the steamer, but is indescribably dirty and disa- 
greeable. Sewers were being constructed in all the 
streets, and only when these are completed and the 
pavements relaid can it become even a semi-respecta- 
ble city. As I saw it, it was torn up by the contractors 
from one end to^ the other and no cabs could be used. 
The old open sewers in the centre of streets not yet 
excavated were filthy ; flies were in multitudes ; the ho- 
tels were dirty and poor; beggars and lower classes 
predominated on wharves and street corners and 
about the innumerable saloons, and I observed no 



342 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

saving virtues except that there was a fine for kiUing 
buzzards. Even the Cathedral was undergoing exten- 
sive repairs and could not be viewed; I doubt if it con- 
tained anything to view. The ten thousand of popula- 
tion preyed on travelers, or were growing rich on the 
large commerce of the port; and buzzards were the 
only scavengers that endeavored to keep off the 
plague. No one enters Vera Cruz and has an over- 
powering desire to remain there over night. Evident- 
ly mosquitoes, yellow fever and cholera belong there 
as of inalienable right. Its unhealthiness is not due 
solely to situation, however, but to bad government. 
The city is built on sand, and, with proper sanitation, 
pure water and ordinary cleanliness, the hot sun and 
great depth of sand should take care of all the rest, and 
give something, at least, of health to the locality. Sun 
as a purifier and sand as a filterer are Nature's rem- 
edies for the necessary nuisances which gather in a 
semi-tropical centre like Vera Cruz, but when man 
does his best to outwit both agencies it is usually suc- 
ceeded by a quick vengeance descending from heaven 
on human life. 

One does get a sort of introduction to Mexican 
life at this seaport, but not an agreeable one. He will see 
cruelty to animals with few amelioratives. I saw this 
sight one morning, and presume I could find it re- 
peated every hour if I looked for it. A flat car on the 
street railway was loaded with heavy stones and two 
donkeys were hauling it up a slight grade. The track 
twisted about in sharp curves, and the street was so 
uneven that the donkeys could with difficulty secure 
firm footing. By dint of lashing and shouting the ani- 
mals laid down to their work, and pulled twice what 
they should or could pull under ordinary circumstan- 
ces. And then they were forced into a half -run, when 



TO "JOY IN THE WATER" 343 

ten lazy Mexicans jumped on the load to increase the 
burden! Of course the donkey has no business to be 
a donkey, but he is to be especially pitied if he is born 
on Mexican soil and has no opportunity to emigrate 
in coltish years to donkey heaven. 

Historically the place did interest me, because on 
San Juan de Ulua Cortez landed his troops April 21, 
15 19, and next day visited the mainland precisely 
where the present city stands. Then, as now, he must 
have seen only a low stretch of sand-made land cov- 
ered with a scrubby forest, and should the atmosphere 
have been clear, the mountains near Orizaba, at a dis- 
tance of sixty miles. At this port he burned his ships, 
so that he could not retreat to Cuba if defeated. He 
landed on a Good Friday, and, because of that fact, 
and because he learned of rich gold possessions in the 
interior, he called the city, which he at once proposed 
to build on the seashore, " The Rich City of the Holy 
True Cross" ("Villa Rica de la Santa Vera Cruz"). 
So long a name has been properly diminished to simple 
Vera Cruz. 

General Scott landed at Vera Cruz in 1847, bom- 
barded the fort, and from thence made his march to 
Cerro Gordo, Puebla and the capital. The French, 
English and Spanish as joint allies occupied the city 
in 1861. It was the headquarters of the Juarez gov- 
ernment in 1858 and later, during the "War of the Re- 
form." All the great men and famous men from Cor- 
tez to Maximilian, who have governed or tried to sub- 
due or govern the great country formerly known as 
Mexico (which originally was several times in area 
what it is now) have entered the country from this 
port, and it is this which gives Vera Cruz its promi- 
nence in history. If its native inhabitants feel any 
pride in these facts, they fail to show it in any marked 



344 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

way, unless it be in the keeping up of a respectable 
park before the Cathedral, and in selling to tourists 
Mexican cigars bearing one of the best-known brands 
in the Republic, that of the house of Blanco. 

I must return once more to the scavengers, who 
are elected and serve for life — the buzzards. They are 
jet black, tame as chickens and extremely wise. They 
will sit for an hour on the ledge of a house roof, peer- 
ing down into the street below as if watching each 
traveler and urchin, and every drop of sewer water 
that floats lazily along. Suddenly, seeing some mor- 
sel of food, whether thrown out into the street or 
dropped from a wagon, they will fly down with out- 
stretched wings and gobble it up. Nobody disturbs 
them and they disturb nobody. They sometimes cir- 
cle around in a drove high above the housetops, as if 
exercising, but for the most part they are the police- 
men who do their best to keep ofif yellow fever and 
other filth diseases, and if they do not wholly succeed 
it is because the population can outwit them in devis- 
ing nuisances which they cannot abate. In other 
words, the buzzards cannot keep pace with the city's 
disease germs, generated by the public indifference 
and closely related to individual foulness. 

There are but three important seaports now on 
the east coast of Mexico: Vera Cruz, Coatzacoalcos 
and Tampico; of these Vera Cruz has been for four 
hundred years and always will remain the chief, be- 
cause of its nearer proximity to the City of Mexico, 
the distance to which is two hundred and sixty-three 
miles. As Tampico is at the mouth of a fine river, the 
Rio Panuco, that port has some intrinsic advantage 
over Vera Cruz; nevertheless, the rivalry between 
these two cities naturally resolves itself in favor ol 
Vera Cruz. 



TO "J5y in the WATER" 345 

When at Soledad, about twenty-five miles beyond 
Vera Cruz on the Mexican Central Railway, the ascent 
of the mountains begins, and interest in new things is 
at once awakened. The grade is often steep, there are 
many curves, and the scenery becomes interesting 
from the start, chiefly because it consists of banana 
and cof¥ee trees, of splendid orchids and beautiful hi- 
biscus, and other tall flowering plants. Coffee-trees 
grow best when shaded, and hence most of the coffee- 
fields are dotted with banana plants. On the 
higher plateaus coffee does not flourish, nor in the 
sands of the coast. But on the semi-heights of the 
Mexican table-lands they do grow, and at every sta- 
tion are to be seen bags of coffee, stacked up for ship- 
ment, or being brought tO' the railway in sacks on the 
backs of donkeys, or of human beings. Strange peo- 
ple get into the third-class apartments of the train at 
the various stations; all civil, all wearing straw or wool 
sombreros, with zerapes thrown over their shoulders 
and gay-colored waistbands. They are dark-skinned, 
barefooted, (or with leather sandals), and are usually 
not clean in dress or hands. The women take to a blue 
reboso, which is headgear, shoulder-warmer and 
apron all in one. 

Cordoba, sixty-six miles from Vera Cruz, where 
the altitude is twenty-seven hundred and thirteen feet 
above the sea, was the first really live town encoun- 
tered. Here the station scene was picturesque in the 
extreme. Women of all ages, and a few men, were by 
the platform and along the open space before the sta- 
tion, with flowers, fruits, cakes, meats, dulces (sweet 
things), and drinks to sell. The flowers are chiefly 
the cape jessamine, made up into pyramidal bou- 
quets, containing from thirty to sixty each of these 
fragrant white blooms, and were being sold from twen- 

22 



346 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

ty to fifty cents (American) per bouquet, according- to 
the offers made for them. Bouquets like these some- 
times cost half as many dollars in New York city as 
cents in Cordoba. Here I tasted pulque for the first 
time, but did not like it. The cakes look appetizing, as 
did the bits of roasted chicken. Oranges sold for 
about one real (twelve and one-half cents Mexican) 
for twenty, and were juicy and sweet; as good 
oranges as are known to the tropics. The town has 
six thousand people and dates from 1618, when the 
Viceroy from Cordova, Spain, founded it as " a refuge 
station on the road to Mexico City." The dictator 
Iturbide made the place famous by reason of the Trea- 
ty for the independence of Mexico from Spanish pow- 
er in 1 82 1. It is now chiefly noted for its attractive- 
ness as a place of retreat from the summer heat of 
Vera Cruz, though not outside of the limits of the yel- 
low fever boundaries. It is in the midst of impressive 
mountain scenery and gives one zest to penetrate still 
further toward some spot where the fever pest of 
" the hot country " cannot come. 

It is not so very far beyond this point where a mag- 
nificent waterfall is to be viewed from the car windows. 
This makes one sure he is approaching Orizaba, the 
" Joy in the Water," and it is, indeed, a true sign. For 
in the pretty valley, four thousand feet above the sea, 
in which the town of Orizaba is built, like a white 
jewel in an emerald setting, there are two quiet 
streams and a little river, the latter called Orizaba, 
which unite in a substantial river, the Blanco, and 
there are numerous falls and cascades that repay the 
explorer and that give the pretty Indian title to the 
mountain, to the river and to the town. 

Summing up my experiences of a Sunday spent in 
Orizaba, I should be recreant to my feelings if 1 did not 



TO "JOY IN THE WATER" 347 

declare it was one of the most satisfying- spots I vis- 
ited in Mexico. The views of the surrounding hills 
were not grand, though a bit of the summit of Oriza- 
ba, glittering in a crown of snow from behind one of 
the ranges, was pleasantly suggestive of what a fuller 
and nearer view might be. But it was attractive moun- 
tain scenery, and the air was perfectly deUcious. Vera 
Cruz had been hot — eighty-five degrees in the morn- 
ing in the shade — but Orizaba was " just right," the 
temperature being sixty-two degrees in the early 
morning and seventy-eight degrees at midday. In the 
evening a light overcoat was desirable, if sitting out in 
the park before the Cathedral. 

The " Hotel de France " (not mentioned in the latest 
guidebook) went a long way toward fulfilling the pre- 
diction made by the captain of one of the Ward Line 
steamers, that I should " find it one of the best hotels 
in all Mexico." It is kept by a Frenchman, who knows 
what cleanUness, good beds and good meals are, where- 
as Mexican hotel keepers have no instinct for these 
things. He was Spanish enough to have a patio, 
wherein were plants and cages of birds, and a fountain 
that gave a delightful sense of coolness to the court. 
Into this patio the various bedrooms opened. He was 
also French enough to know what clean linen, bright 
silver, cleanly-washed porcelain ware, and thoroughly 
well-cooked meals are to strangers accustomed to such 
things in their native land. There were small round 
tables and seats in the patio, where early-coifee was 
served, or after-coffee, and where one could enjoy the 
poor fragrance of a Mexican cigar. The bedsteads 
were of enamelled iron and brass mountings, and the 
beds and pillows soft, not like the stones on which Ja- 
cob slept at Bethel, as in many other places in Mexico. 
Everything about the establishment was tidy and at- 



348 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tractive. There are doubtless more such hotels in the 
Republic, but I happened not to enter them, though I 
can except the '' Grand Hotel " in Puebla, which is 
newly built. 

It was at Orizaba, which boasts of a population of 
fifteen thousand, that I first came in contact with real 
Mexican life. It was not of the lowest order, nor of 
the highest, but of an average, where intelligence pre- 
dominated and not mere animal existence. The ener- 
gy of the place was sufficient to maintain clean streets, 
and there was an air of cleanliness and semi-refinement 
which had been altogether lacking in Vera Cruz. 
True, sewers were in the centre of paved streets, but 
they were confined to a '' V " shaped depression, had 
a grade flow, and were daily flushed. Their odor was 
imperceptible. The houses were one-story, a Mexican 
characteristic. A few business buildings and the ho- 
tels had two, or even three stories, but such " sky- 
scrapers," as I presume the natives would call them, 
were few and far between. There were liquor shops 
enough, but they were not the centres of any objec- 
tionable tumults, nor of large gatherings. The side- 
walks were wider than in Havana — perhaps three feet 
as a rule — and the projections of the roofs were of the 
same width, so that in the rainy season the water shot 
over the heads of the traveling public into the streets. 
I peered into a number of patios of private dwellings 
and found them clean, often decorated with flowering 
plants, and cozy. Many bedrooms and sitting rooms 
in these houses were scrupulously free from dirt, the 
furniture and rugs being of the latest designs, and 
pictures were not uncommon. Bedsteads were of 
iron, or brass, or a combination of both. On the way 
from Vera Cruz rude huts of bamboo poles, with roofs 
thatched with palm leaves, and earth floors, similar to 



TO " JOY IN THE WATER " 349 

those in interior Africa, were sometimes seen, though 
dwelUngs were mostly of frame and occasionally of 
adobe ; but in Orizaba all houses were of stone, white- 
washed or colored light blue, and generally with tiled 
roofs, and stone or tiled floors. The churches are 
numerous, and have attractive towers. 

One of the first things to do in a Mexican city is 
to go to the market. That of Orizaba was alongside 
the Cathedral. Here was a typical Mexican market, 
cleaner than most others, the daily rendezvous of sev- 
eral hundred venders of cakes, fruit, flowers and all 
kinds of odd merchandise, from a pin to a sombrero, 
and from peanuts to porcelain ware. Of course 
there were more women salesmen than men, because 
the former are more energetic and the more sagacious 
of the two sexes. Real Indians, descendants of the 
Chicimecs and other races akin to the Aztecs, served 
ices, or pulque, or oranges, and, within it, metres of 
ribbon, and deftly painted and beautifully glazed 
ware. The Mexican women do not despise dolls, and 
they admire the most beautiful of flowers. These 
women, like the men, are undersized; that is, the 
women about five and the men five feet six inches high, 
though some are taller. 

A real Indian woman has hair black as a raven's 
wing, skin like mahogany, eyes bright and furtive, 
bare feet, often a low-necked dress of light miaterial, 
and always a reboso of light blue, or similar unpro- 
nounced color. Bright reds and yellows are affected 
by the men in their zerapes, but the women seem to 
be content with more subdued hues. I saw no chairs 
employed for the sitting attitude, either in the market 
or in the homes of the real Indian. A coarse mat is 
put down upon the pavement, or floor, and a squatting 
position is taken and maintained throughout the en- 



360 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

tire day. I saw women, children and men sit for hours 
in one position, apparently, whether vending peanuts, 
oranges, cakes, or what not, and often appeared to 
have nothing whatever between them and the stones 
or earth on which they sat, except a thin skirt or 
half-wornout trousers. The zerape might be used as 
a rug when the owner has no mat, but I presume it 
is too precious a possession to be put to such dishonor. 
The market is the business spot in Orizaba; it is the 
centre of every day's active life, and human character, 
as developed among the natives, can best be studied 
in this curious spot. 

I climbed part way up a hill beyond the Alameda 
to obtain a good view of the valley. Probably the 
Cathedral tower would be an equally good point of ob- 
servation, and less fatiguing in the ascent, but, at any 
rate, I found the valley large, perfectly flat and quite 
fertile. Orizaba is planted a little west of its centre, 
its location being chosen, no doubt, because of the 
water-power furnished by the river that flows through 
it. There are various cotton factories in and near the 
town, one said to rank among the largest in the world, 
and to employ several thousand operatives. 

The Alameda is the town park and would be a 
credit to any American city of a hundred thousand 
population. It covers many acres, is dense in shade, 
has driveways and paths, stone seats to sit upon, a 
large fountain and many tropical plants. The little 
plaza in front of the Cathedral is a more convenient 
meeting place for the people, and here there is music 
twice a week, and always on Sunday. 

The Cathedral was finished in 1720 after fifty years 
of labor, and, while less handsome within than the 
more pretentious churches in all parts of Mexico, was 
especially attractive to me, because of the immense 



TO "JOY IN THE WATER" 351 

size of its worshiping congregations on Sunday morn- 
ing, and the revelation I then had for the first time of 
the apparent devoutness of the Indian races of Mexi- 
co to the doctrines, or rather the externals, of the 
Catholic religion. I do not know what they believe 
concerning the doctrines fastened upon this people by 
their Spanish conquerors, but that they attended de- 
voutly to every phase of the religious services in this 
Cathedral was so apparent that I marveled. At the 
close of the eleven o'clock service, I saw probably as 
many as two thousand persons come out of the Cathe- 
dral and scatter to their homes. Immediately after, 
at the beginning of the next hour's service, others 
pressed into the building, and at least a thousand were 
seated, or knelt, to hear the next sermon and witness 
the next mass. The seats were filled first, but not in 
all instances, for scores of those arriving early knelt on 
the cold stone floor; the women with nothing beneath 
their knees except the thin garment worn, the men 
frequently on the rims of their sombreros. When the 
seats were filled, every newcomer so knelt. Boys and 
men in semi-tattered clothes, dirty and barefooted, 
had come miles to attend the ministrations. Every 
description of Indian was there, though for the most 
part the worshipers were dressed in their best, because 
it was Sunday. Some men had on laundered white 
shirts, with gold or ornamented studs, spotless collars 
and modern neckties, but the majority were too poor 
to indulge in such luxuries. Some of the women must 
have been Spaniards, belonging to the rich families, 
elegantly gowned and with hands covered with jewels. 
All, rich and poor alike, sat or knelt side by side, cross- 
ing themselves, and repeating " Ora pro nobis," as a 
response to the prayers, keeping their eyes fixed on 
the priest, or on some of the wooden saints above the 



352 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

altars. It was a sight to make me wonder and admire; 
admire the patience and devoutness of this people, 
who were so much more reUgious (in their Sunday 
conduct at least) than their Spanish cousins across the 
water, or the Italians in the homeland of Romanism, 
and wonder that in America or England we Protes- 
tants have scarcely a tithe of the sacred feeling for a 
church edifice, or for a religious service, possessed by 
the Mexican. 

There is one new church in Orizaba which is ex- 
ceedingly beautiful within, San Jose de Garcia, fin- 
ished in 1810 and recently newly adorned. The inte- 
rior richly deserves a visit. Besides a pretty altar, and 
a general sweet effect within, there are a large number 
of well-executed paintings by Barranca, a native art- 
ist who has conferred honor upon his town and his 
country. Barranca still lives at an age exceeding 
ninety, and his son has succeeded him in active work 
with the brush, being almost his equal. Barranca is 
said " not to draw well," but " to paint well," and some 
of his pictures are comparable with many of the Mid- 
dle Age masterpieces in coloring and the effect they 
produce upon the mind. He paints as if he were a 
Sixteenth rather than a Nineteenth Century artist, and 
always with feeling and with delicacy, often with 
breadth and power. His best paintings, probably, are 
in this church. 

While passing along one of the streets in the after- 
noon, the sign of an American specialist in the treat- 
ment of diseases by the X-ray proved that even Mexi- 
co was welcoming new inventions and discoveries in 
science. Entering the office I found everything as 
clean as a hospital ward, and various rooms were de- 
voted to tools and instruments, and also to photo- 
graphs of persons " cured " by this modern discovery. 



TO "JOY IN THE WATER" 353 

A native woman of the Indian type came in, took her 
seat in the chair, and had electricity applied to her 
head and hands. She was seeking a cure for pains in 
the head, she said, and she exhibited no aversion to the 
sensations given by the electric fluid. 

Cortez left a fort at Orizaba on his first inland 
march. The spot was then noted among the natives 
for the salubrity of its climate and the abundance of 
pure water. Maximilian made it one of his favorite 
resorts. The cross on the low mountain summit to the 
west marks the spot where French soldiers were slain 
in 1862, when a party of Zouaves surprised and de- 
feated the Mexican forces upon the hilltop. Without 
doubt the slow-marching centuries since the Four- 
teenth have all witnessed corteges of sick and well in- 
habitants of the " Hot Country," pushing their way up 
the slopes of the mountains to Orizaba to get rid of the 
fevers and agues engendered in the sands and swamps 
of the coast. It is a good place yet for any sick person 
to reside, even from the United States; I should 
choose it over Florida, which is too near the sea-level 
to aflord any tonic to the system. Here, at an uplift 
of over four thousand feet, the ill and the well may en- 
joy weeks of bouyancy of mind and surprising vigor 
of body, without being menaced by too many of the 
disagreeable sights of average Mexico, and with a 
number of pleasant things in daily possession. 



XX.^TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW. 

WHEN CORTEZ burned his ships at Vera 
Cruz and struckinto the interior of Mexico, 
with less than nine hundred men and only 
ten cannon, to conquer what he supposed to be one 
nation of at least several hundred thousand people, 
he performed an act as daring as any which finds men- 
tion on the pages of history. The general opinion of 
the modern world has been adverse to the good he 
accomplished in his war of conquest. But the histo- 
rian Prescott viewed it in another aspect. After detail- 
ing the achievements which the Toltec and Aztec races 
had made in certain intellectual lines of thought and 
activity, and noting the underlying principles of their 
national religions, he calls attention to their cruelty in 
human sacrifices, and then adds this calm reflection: 
" In this state of things, it was beneficently ordered 
by Providence that the land should be delivered over 
to another race, who would rescue it from the brutish 
superstitions that daily extended wider and wider with 
the extent of empire. The debasing institutions of the 
Aztecs furnish the best apology for their conquest.'*^ 
The same kind of critics of the methods and ends of 
Cortez condemn the conquest of the United States of 
two centuries ago from the rule of the Indians. But 
the same answer may be given to all these accusations : 
the savage and semi-savage tribes of men must give 
way to men of higher type and loftier mold. It is 
a pity it must be by war, but better war and real civili- 
zation after war than no war at all. 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 355 

In approaching the site of ancient Tenochtitlan 
(now the modern City of Mexico) from Orizaba, I had 
the feeHng that I was going to what was for two cen- 
turies — but only for two centuries — the central thea- 
tre of action of the most peculiar and interesting race, 
or races, of men that ever inhabited the continent of 
North America. I was sorry that such an unusual race 
had to give way before Spanish intrigue and decep- 
tion, and thankful that so many individual examples of 
true Aztecs in blood are still left to represent the fam- 
ily of the Montezumas. The origin of the Aztecs, like 
that of the more Northern aborigines, is lost in ob- 
scurity, but, unlike the less civilized and less pictur- 
esque races of colder climes, they had maintained na- 
tional coherency, real power and a high degree of at- 
tainment in the arts and some of the sciences. They 
were even on the highway toward equality with the 
old Babylonians in buildings devoted to religion. It 
may be that other and older races had overrun the 
whole of Mexico and Central America ahead of the 
Toltecs, Aztecs and collateral tribes, and built such 
splendid ruins as those of Mitla, Uxmal and Palenque, 
but of them we actually know nothing. The Toltecs, 
tecs, however, we do know as a brave, sagacious, en- 
ened and fairly humane people ; and as to their suc- 
cessors in authority, who rapidly became their sup- 
planters and leaders, the Aztecs — the progenitors of 
the present pure bloods of Mexico — there is abundant 
history to prove their equality in various lines of in- 
tellectual attainment with the great Oriental nations 
of antiquity. 

These Aztecs, who may have been cave-dwellers 
in Colorado and Mexico, probably came from the 
north during the Twelfth Century and settled, after 
several pauses, in the valley of Mexico in or about the 



356 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

year 1325. The tradition is not improbable which re- 
lates that upon a prickly pear cactus, springing from 
a rock on the western shore of Lake Texcoco, they 
saw an eagle strangling a serpent in his talons, while 
his outstretched wings were opened to the rising sun. 
The cacti and the eagles are still inhabitants of the 
country surrounding Lake Texcoco, and a supersti- 
tious people would seize upon such an occurrence as 
an omen. At all events, here this people founded a 
city in the marshes by this lakeside, of bamboo, with 
palm thatching, and began their struggle for existence 
as colonists of a fertile land. They called the city 
Tenochtitlan — " a cactus on a stone." 

As one looks now from the heights of Guadalupe- 
Hidalgo over the Mexican plain, he will see to the east 
from Mexico the shining waters of Texcoco, and, be- 
yond its ancient western shores, which have retreated 
from it by reason of the barriers to its overflow erected 
since the Conquest, the domes and towers of a vast 
new city of over three hundred thousand people. This 
is the successor to the ancient city of Tenochtitlan, 
whose population was formerly of an equal number, 
but possibly was greater. The lake referred to is now 
one only of several lakes which take up one-tenth 
of the area of this Mexican valley. Few observe the 
extent of the water from any usual high point of view, 
much less from the railway train, but still it is there, 
and during all the time of Spanish occupancy it was a 
source of danger to the capital and the cause of end- 
less enactments and many physical attempts to prevent 
its annihilating the young city. Again and again was 
it decided to remove the seat of government to another 
quarter, but superstition and indifference after floods 
subsided prevented, and to-day the City of Mexico 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 357 

Stands where the proud Montezuma ruled with inglo- 
rious hand. 

If one wants to know the history of the builders of 
Tenochtitlan, he has abundant resources, great and 
small. For charming reading, he cannot do better 
than peruse Prescott's " Conquest of Mexico," first 
volume. For a more carefully matured description, he 
should read Fiske's '' Discovery of America," first vol- 
ume. For a compact and judiciously stated history of 
Mexico from 1325 to the present, he might secure 
Noll's " Short History of Mexico," a most admirable 
resume in every particular. A well-prepared guide- 
book is Janvier's " Mexican Guide," now, however, a 
dozen years old. A more sprightly and beautifully il- 
lustrated one is Campbell's " New Revised Complete 
Guide," of 1899. I have found pleasure and profit in 
all of these works. Prescott will do more for the im- 
agination than any writer upon " New Spain," and 
Campbell gives much more accurate modern knowl- 
edge of that land than can be found within an equal 
number of pages in any other volume. 

Which is by the way. I did not intend to recom- 
mend guide-books, nor to speak much of the history 
of the Aztecs. Yet both matters are essentially im- 
portant if one turns face to the City of Mexico with 
any expectations of returning panoplied in the armor 
of real knowledge concerning that curious spot. 

Beyond Orizaba there is mountainous scenery for 
many miles. I do not call much of it grand, but in- 
teresting. It is often compared with that of Switzer- 
land, but there is no comparison. It is tame beside 
Zermatt, or the Rigi. I am told there is far better 
scenery south of Mexico City, toward Cuernavaca. 
After all, however, it is certainly the people and 
history of Mexico more than the scenery which appeal 



358 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

to those who have traveled over other lands before 
fastening eyes upon the lesser Cordillera of the North 
American Continent. Of one thing I am sure, 
that the last hundred of the one hundred and eighty- 
one miles from Orizaba to the City of Mexico is about 
as dreary a waste in the dry season as one can find 
outside of the Desert of Sahara. How it may be in the 
rainy season I can scarcely conjecture, but in March 
bare fields, absolutely destitute of verdure, and pulque 
plantations, picturesque till you tire of them because 
of their monotony, make up the entire scene for hours 
of railway travel, and you enter the City of Mexico at 
night tired and dusty enough to hope for good baths, 
which are hard to get, a good hotel, which it is next 
to impossible to find, and quaint scenes, which you are 
sure to see on the morrow. Yet once upon a time all 
this plateau had its lakes and canals, trees were plen- 
tiful, maize and wheat waved their plumes in the sun- 
light, and the scene was one of productiveness and en- 
chantment. That the chief lake overflowed its bounds 
and caused disaster to the fair Aztecs and their great 
city was made the occasion on the part of the Spaniard 
for filling up most of the canals, and causing Tenoch- 
titlan to be changed from a Venice to a Mecca. And 
how great the change! On yonder mountains, and in 
the many-domed churches and numerous small towns, 
more or less of the old elements of beauty are en- 
throned; for it is still a wonderful valley, glorious 
with an atmosphere clear as crystal under the amber 
rays of every morning's sun. But in the spring sea- 
son its entrancing delights so far depart that there are 
clouds of dust, whirlwinds of it, arising everywhere out 
of the naked soil, and the hillsides are as desolate as if 
thev were located in modern Greece or in North Afri- 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 359 

ca. The trees are few compared with the desert of 
nothingness. 

Mexico City, I have said, has over three hundred 
thousand population. The whole Republic, which is 
as large as all the United States east of the Mississippi 
River, has a population of about eleven millions. No 
city in North America, south of Philadelphia, has a 
population equaling the City of Mexico. 

The first impression on entering the city is the 
fact that now it is wholly a land city. There are no 
canals intersecting its streets, although various no- 
menclatures of the streets indicate such canals and the 
ancient bridges crossing them. The old designations 
of streets largely survive and in their original form. 
Almost every block gained brings one face to face with 
a new street title. It puzzles strangers, but all attempts 
to alter this have met with the disapproval of the con- 
servative inhabitants. A second impression is that 
the streets are generally paved, the few chief ones with 
asphalt, which gives to the leading mercantile quarters 
a clean appearance and one comparable with all mod- 
ern cities. The third noticeable thing is the one or 
two-story buildings common to all cities of the torrid 
zone. The shops and hotels are two and three, in a 
number of cases four, stories in height, but the vast 
majority of buildings are only of two stories. This 
makes it impossible to place the municipality in the 
same category with Paris, Berlin, Madrid, or any great 
European or American capital, in respect to general 
dignity and, as a consequence, the comforts of living. 
It restricts the domestic arrangements of families to a 
few rooms, and requires that parents having numerous 
children bring them up in compartments too few to 
properly separate them. It is the primitive way of liv- 
ing, and not according to the modern method. 



360 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

My arrival at the station of the Mexican Railway 
in the twilight of evening gave me a first opportunity 
to see the lack of enterprise in Mexican cabbies. 
There were at least forty first-class passengers 
seeking cabs to convey them to some hotel. About 
three cabs were on hand. Cab drivers were lazily 
resting in the various plazas, no doubt, but they had 
no eye to the business of stopping where there would 
necessarily be traffic. I had the strange experience of 
hunting up a small boy and asking him to scour the 
vicinity for a conveyance. He went three several 
times and always returned, like Noah's dove, with 
promises only. Finally, one cab came, took me a mile 
and a-half to a hotel, and returned in order to convey 
to the same hotel my comrades. The electric lights 
of the city on the avenue as we drove along indicated 
a more modern metropolis than we found it to be. 
Apparently the pavements were first-class and clean, 
and the shops up-to-date. There were visible, as I 
got some blocks away from the station, streams of ve- 
hicles carrying the well-to-do, especially ladies, in the 
direction of the Alameda and the Plaza. 

On the subject of hotels in Mexico City, everyone 
had said there was none worthy of the name. But on 
the way from Orizaba an American, who had resided 
in the Republic fourteen months, gave me the infor- 
mation that he considered one, at least, *' first-class,'* 
and that if he were going to the city with his wife he 
should certainly go to it. He named the one with 
which I had had satisfactory correspondence. I remem- 
ber he especially praised the meals. He said that as- 
a matter of fact no hotel gave good meals, but that this 
certain hotel was fully as good as any, and at all events 
that there were private restaurants to which one could 
resort in case of dissatisfaction. As the plan of carry-^ 



TBNOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 3Gl 

ing on Mexican hotels is to charge for the rooms and 
leave you entirely free to eat where you like, without 
incurring the proprietor's displeasure, I felt that at 
least one feature of hotel life could be resolved in my 
favor. 

Arriving at the place, which shall be nameless, I 
found it to consist of rooms, which, with two or three 
exceptions, were without windows and without venti- 
lation save by a transom into an interior court, itself 
wholly enclosed and covered with glass. The air that 
came into my room was the confined air common to 
all other rooms, which mingled in the prisonHke 
court and stayed there from week to week. The light, 
scanty enough, was only increased to a proper degree 
by artificial means. Dirt abounded. The counter- 
panes, sheets and bolster cases (as in Spain, the pillows 
used in Mexico are the bolsters), were altogether 
*' more holy than righteous," being in fact worn out. 
There was no help for the selection, for inquiry devel- 
oped the fact that in " the tourists' season," (March 
is the last month of it) every hotel room is occupied, 
by preengagement. So I made the best of it, and it 
nearly spoiled all my week's stay in the City of the 
Montezumas. As to the board, it was too wretched to 
be endured. Dishes were generally well-cooked, but 
the dirt of the cafe and the untidiness of the table- 
cloths and napkins proved too much for my appetite. 
The specific hotel referred to w^as, I discovered, on a 
fair par with the average, and absurdly inadequate for 
modern needs. The first principle of hotelkeeping, as 
of housekeeping, is cleanliness; the second, comfort. 
Most Mexican hotels have neither. But, of course, 
to every rule there are exceptions. I subsequently 
found there were really better hotels in Mexico City, 
but they were full, and there was the prospect of an- 



362 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

Other, to be called " The Palace," to be opened the 
coming summer. The hotels of the better class are kept 
by Germans or Frenchmen, not by Mexicans or Span- 
iards. 

Ancient Tenochtitlan was laid out in parallelo- 
grams, or very nearly so. The modern City of Mexico 
follows the same plan. When Cortez destroyed — as 
it was necessary for him to do to complete the subju- 
gation of his foes — the Aztec city, he first razed to the 
ground every dwelling and temple, and then laid out 
an entirely new city, but strictly on the old site and 
lines. The causeways over the marshes were retained 
as roadways. All the main streets from north to 
south and from east to west were allowed to remain, 
but widened. The former dwellings of sun-dried clay, 
or of wood, were wholly removed, but the great stones 
in the teocalis (the heathen temples, of which there 
were said to be four hundred in the city) were em- 
ployed in the new structures. To-day the church of 
San Francisco, which is a half century older in its 
foundations than the Cathedral, is largely built of 
stones which came out of the Great Teocalli, the main 
temple of Montezuma (finished in his reign), that 
stood on a site now embraced in the present Plaza; 
and most of the old Spanish churches and con- 
vents have, as foundations, stones which bear the im- 
ages of Aztec gods, turned inwards, so as not to 
intrude their ugly visages upon the more saintly Span- 
iards, whose war of conquest was a war to establish 
the Most Holy Religion of Rome. 

The central point for the observances of the Az- 
tec religion was on the top of the Great Teocalli, 
which stood in the centre of the Aztec city, probably 
covering the ground directly in front of the present 
Cathedral. With its subordinate edifices it may have 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 363 

covered all the ground now occupied by the Cathedral 
and some adjoining blocks, but the main Plaza of to- 
day was also a plaza of early days, for the palace of 
Montezuma's father was on its western, Montezuma's 
own palace on the eastern, and the House of Birds on 
its southern, side. The present National Pawnshop 
stands on part of the palace ground of Axayacatl, father 
of Montezuma, which covered far more than this 
modern structure. There Cortez resided with his sol- 
diers and daily received Montezuma with (apparently) 
profound tokens of respect, and there Montezuma was 
kept a prisoner for the months preceding his mortal 
wounds and death, which occurred on June 30, 1520. 
The present Palace of Diaz occupies part of the site of 
Montezuma's palace. The latter covered several times 
more ground to the eastward and southward, includ- 
ing the market-place, and was magnificent in interior 
decorations, Cortez declaring it superior to anything 
of its kind in Spain. 

Standing in the little garden plat which fronts that 
magnificent pile, the Cathedral, where numerous tall 
trees dwarf the magnitude of its harmonious propor- 
tions, one must be dull indeed to historic facts not to 
feel thrilled with stirring emotions. He must see ris- 
ing up, just where he stands, that vast pile of the Az- 
tec Temple, from whose summit the whole plain of 
Mexico spread out with its wide extent and almost in- 
comparable beauty. This Temple was encompassed 
with a wall of stone, to keep out all who were not 
priests or warriors, and on that wall were huge figures 
of numerous serpents. Four large gateways pierced 
the enclosure, opening on the four (still to-day the 
four) principle streets of the capital. Over each gate 
was an arsenal of weapons. Within arose a pyramidal 
structure about three hundred feet square at the base, 



364 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

its faces to the four points of the compass, five stories 
in height, rising probably to one hundred and fifty 
feet, each story smaller than the one erected below 
it. A flight of steps reached the top of the first story; 
then that top had to be traversed to the opposite side, 
where steps led to the next story. The procession of 
priests, as they wound their way up daily to the top, 
went round the platform three times before reaching 
the topmost level. Cortez stormed this Temple again 
and again; but never was the spectacle so terrible, as 
when, on the week of the dedication of this Temple by 
Axayacatl, father of Montezuma, in the year i486, a 
vast hectacomb of victims was offered up upon the 
sacrificial stone on the summit. It was a day of un- 
paralleled m.agnificence in the history of the Aztecs, 
and it was not so long before the first Spanish Con- 
quest (15 19) that the accounts of it might not have 
been transmitted with correctness to the conquerors. 
It is said that seventy thousand victims perished dur- 
ing the days given up to the dedicatory services. Im- 
possible as this seems (and it is more probable that this 
number refers to the sacrifices through the whole em- 
pire, where were hundreds of similar but smaller tem- 
ples), it is not a romance that these human sacrifices 
occurred. Bernardo Diaz says he counted one hun- 
dred and thirty-six thousand skulls at one teocalli! 
Spaniards themselves saw the bloody rites when un- 
able to prevent them. Spaniards even saw their fellows, 
captured in combat after Cortez first evacuated the 
capital, immolated on this central sacrificial summit 
in Tenochtitlan. Cortez and his men were at the time 
on heights outside the city, after one of the most disas- 
trous days of his second campaign against the city. 
In the early morning he saw his brave comrades, who 
had been captured, taken to the top of the Great Tec- 




:<i. 



TBNOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 365 

calli, stripped to the waist, laid upon the sacrificial 
stone by Aztec warriors, and their hot, reeking hearts 
torn out of their bodies and deposited in the censer be- 
fore the idol that crowned the summit. The hearts 
were for the cruel god Huitzilopochtli ; the bodies were 
flung down to the base of the temple and given up to 
a cannibal repast! The spot was the most sacred one 
of the nation of Montezuma, and thereafter the most 
detested to the Spaniards. Who shall wonder, or ob- 
ject, that the latter razed it to its foundations, over- 
turning Idol and stone, earth and cement, to its utter- 
most fragment, and in its place reared a Cathedral to 
the glory of God! The same Idol which was on the 
summit, the same Sacrificial Stone, perhaps, may now 
be seen in the National Museum, but not one stone of 
the Teocalli itself remains in the position it was before. 
Men sometimes stand on the Plaza, or in similar po- 
sitions in other Mexican cities, and express regret that 
the former things were not allowed to remain, but it 
requires little human reasoning to see that, in the or- 
der of Providence and in the march of humanity, these 
temples could not be permitted to stand. Only by their 
total overthrow were the natives of Mexico made to 
understand that their gods were without reality or 
power. 

There were in the City of Mexico various such teo- 
callis, all of a lesser size than this immense one in the 
Plaza, but every one was given up at times to human 
sacrifice. In fact all cities under the domination of the 
Aztecs had one or more. The ruined sites of a very 
few of them exist, and, usually speaking, they are only 
sites; all else has passed away. There exist other 
monuments, however, erected as memorials to gods 
less cruel than Huitzilopochtli, in various parts of the 



366 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

present Republic, but their numbers are small and the 
uses to which they were put are rarely certain. 

And so, here, we have to-day, in place of and on 
part of the site of the " pile of sacrifice," a lofty, dou- 
bly-towered and splendid Cathedral. It is the pride 
of the city. Its size and wealth of interior gold orna- 
mentations make it the grandest Cathedral on the West- 
ern continent. In outward appearance it is altogeth- 
er noble and pleasing. The architect, Castaneda, knew 
how to plan it so it should dominate the landscape and 
the city. Founded in the very first year of the 
Conquest, it was over fifty years later (1573) before the 
corner-stone of the present structure was laid. It suc- 
ceeded an earlier one, but as that did not satisfy the 
pride of the greatest and meanest sovereign of that 
century, Phillip II. of Spain, he had the present struc- 
ture called into being, and it was finally completed, 
towers and all, in the space of a hundred and eighteen 
years. It is a satisfying Cathedral, without and within, 
although within it looks at first as cold and austere as 
was its kingly projector. Aside from its various costly 
chapels, containing the remains of Iturbide and others, 
and its elaborate and not artistic but rich altars, that 
which causes most wonder is the Altar of the Kings 
(the Los Reyes), in the apse, beneath which are buried 
the heads of Hidalgo and other heroes of Mexican In- 
dependence. It occupies all the apse and is one mass 
of gold in every conceivable design. The same artist 
designed this altar who made the famous Altar of the 
Kings in the Seville Cathedral, but this would seem to 
be immensely more costly. It is probably the richest 
altar in the whole Republic, although for pure beauty 
and exquisite effect upon the taste I prefer the recently 
finished altar and chapel in the Church of Santo Do- 
mingo in Puebla. The choir stalls in this Cathedral 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 367 

are wonderful specimens of art and the choir books 
look to be as ancient as they are massive. I shall only 
add concerning this Cathedral that the one drawback 
to it is its wooden floor. One cannot conceive why, as in 
the other great Cathedrals of the world, the floor is not 
made of stone, or marbles, unless the intention is to 
afford more warmth to those who kneel before 
the altars; yet for such a purpose rugs or mattings 
could be supplied, as in Oriental mosques. The wood- 
en floor gives to an otherwise royal piece of architec- 
ture a cheap and tawdry appearance. 

As nearly all the street-cars come into the Plaza 
before the Cathedral, and all the best shops are in its 
vicinity, it is natural that the life of the city should 
focus at this one radial point. As it was four hundred 
years ago, so now, the very centre of the wheel of life 
in the municipality is on and about this spot. The 
Alameda, a half mile or more to the west, is a much 
larger and finer spot; a park, indeed, where restful 
hours may be spent under the grateful shade of trop- 
ical trees and flowering exotics. But the activities of 
the people are not centered there. One would sup- 
pose that that park would be crowded by the indolent 
and by the carriages of the fashionable, and in the 
evening the latter are abundant in its vicinity. All 
the same, however, every carriage is headed between 
five and seven o'clock during the spring evenings 
toward the Calle de San Francisco and the Cathedral, 
and the street between (with its varying names) is the 
spot from which to view the fair Spanish and Mexican 
senoritas. The only historic interest connected with 
the Alameda, so far as I know, is that it was an 
ancient Indian market-place, first set aside for park 
purposes in 1592, and that in the open space west of it 
those condemned by the Holy Inquisition were burned 



368 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

to death, usually after strangulation, upon a stone plat- 
form. The Alameda is one quarter of a mile long by 
half that in width. It is now chiefly a resort for chil- 
dren and ladies, and for students who like to study 
under the shade of its large trees. 

There are about a dozen of the churches in the city 
supposed to be worthy of inspection. The searcher 
after sites of principal interest can dispense with all 
except three. These are, m their order of historic in- 
terest : 

San Francisco, not far from the east end of the Ala- 
meda, in which the bones of Cortez reposed from 1629 
to 1794, and in which the Conqueror heard mass be- 
fore he died. It is located in what was the " Wild 
Beast Garden " of. Montezuma. That garden, or at 
least the church and the monastery, convent and va- 
rious chapels connected with the church of San Fran- 
cisco, occupied ground now bounded by the streets 
San Francisco, Coliseo, Zuleta and Las Minas, in the 
very heart of the city. The " Hotel Jardin " occupies the 
site of the monastery, and I presume its walls are a 
portion of the original. The Presbyterian Mission is 
now (1904) located on the same ground, as is the 
Methodist church and some others, so that continuous 
religious exercises have been going on there almost 
since the death of Montezuma, beginning say four or 
five years later. The Hotels " Iturbide " and " San 
Carlos " are on the same property. The ground alone of 
this religious foundation is supposed to be worth, to- 
day, over one million dollars. In San Francisco church, 
the only building remaining on this ground kept for its 
original uses, worship is still maintained, but, strange 
to say, it is semi-Protestant, being the " Church of 
Jesus in Mexico," an order formed by reactionists 
from the Church of Rome. It is most odd in external 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW S69 

structure, and cold and gloomy within, but well de- 
serves a visit. 

The next most interesting church is San Hipolito 
of the Martyrs, near the west end of the Alameda, 
begun 1599, dedicated 1739, on the site of a tiny 
adobe chapel of 152 1, to commemorate the spot where 
so many Spanish soldiers lost their lives on *' The Dis- 
mal Night" (La Noche Triste) of July i, 1520. It has 
no special beauty, but it was always considered by 
Cortez and his followers and by all Spaniards after- 
wards as sacred ground. I shall speak of this a little 
later. 

Jesus Nazareno comes next, and is reached in three 
blocks south of the Plaza. Distinguished as it is, I 
found my guide not to have heard of it (he had for- 
gotten both its name and history) , nor, in a search for 
it, did he meet with friends who could assist him. 
By a map I discovered it was where I had passed al- 
most daily. Unfortunately, the doors were locked, 
but as Cortez founded it, and by his will left money 
for its endowment, and as there his bones rested from 
1794 to 1823 — the sarcophagus which contained them 
still exists — it is a church to be visited by the trav- 
eler. Some men of more recent note are interred 
there. 

If one has further time and inclination, the Church 
of Santo Domingo is likely to repay best for the trouble 
taken to see it; but all the churches of the city, 
with few exceptions, will furnish, in their towers 
and quaint facades, the most charming pictures for an 
artist. So will many a remaining wall or front of an- 
cient convent, monastery or hospital. One will readily 
call to mind in this connection the delightful descrip- 
tion of the suroundings of the " Hotel Jardin " in Hop- 



370 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

kinson Smith's ''A White Umbrella in Mexico," a little 
gem in its way. 

One day I went into the public rooms of the Na- 
tional Palace, which are shown by permission. The 
library and private retiring-room of President Diaz 
(in the latter his bed for reclining in the daytime and 
his bath), his Cabinet room, where were the chairs and 
actual " portfoHos " of himself and his advisers (how 
unlike must have been the " advisory office " of Cor- 
tez, when he built his so-called " palace " on this sitel)^ 
and visitor's room, including the magnificently large 
and elegantly decorated '' Hall of the Ambassadors,"^ 
were in the best of taste, costly without being gaudy^ 
and peculiarly impressive as a dignified and rich in- 
terior to a building wholly plain and fortress-like with« 
out. Our own President at Washington has state 
rooms much inferior in beauty to these of President 
Diaz; although still richer and more artistic than the 
rooms of the National Palace are some of the apart- 
ments, notably the dining-room, of Diaz, in his sum- 
mer residence on the heights of Chapultepec. Presi- 
dent Diaz is, however, a plain man an-d a brave soldier; 
but he is also the head and front, brains and heart, fin- 
ancier and statesman of modern Mexico, and when he 
dies no living mortal can predict what may happen to 
the young Republic. He is admired by all, revered 
by most, and is altogether the greatest reformer and 
statesman the present century has produced in the an- 
cient country of the Aztecs. Without him Mexico 
would still probably be the centre of revolutions ; with 
him it is at peace with itself and the world, and is mak- 
ing great strides toward that civilization which counts 
in the progress of the nation. 

Three, nay four, large public buildings will not be 
passed, by those who have time to take a glimpse of 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 371 

their contents. One of these is the National Museum, 
founded in 1865. Of the other three, one is the School 
of Mines, founded in 1777 (in which building, by the 
way. General Grant was quartered when he visited 
Mexico in 1880). It is sinking and is constantly 
being propped up on the outside to prevent tumbling 
over. Here are mineral and other specimens of 
Mexico's wealth without number, and it is a fine 
structure without and within. One will see under the 
front portal the largest meteoric stone that was ever 
found in America, and there are other similar stones 
of nearly equal size and weight. The largest fell in the 
state of Chihauhau in 1581 and weighs 14,114 kilos 
(31,135 pounds). Another weighs over 10,000 kilos. 
The Academy of San Carlos, or National School of 
Fine Arts, contains the best paintings now to be found 
in Mexico, which include several of the Italian and 
Spanish masters. The National Library was a church 
building, is imposing, and has among its 200,000 books 
and manuscripts some of the rarest volumes relating 
to the early history of the country. 

I note specifically the National Museum last, and 
by itself, because it contains the most popular, most 
frequented and most interesting collection of relics in 
the Western world. I am quite sure as to the phrase 
" most frequented," for while the Metropolitan Mu- 
seum in New York City is well patronized, it would 
surprise the trustees of the latter to see a tithe of the 
visitors, chiefly of the unlettered, who daily enter and 
pass through this Museum. I found it so crowded 
that sometimes I could not enter or leave a room with- 
out much pushing and jostling against men and wom- 
en, some of whom had evidently journeyed for 
leagues to reach the capital, and all of whom seemed 
interested in everything they looked at, pertaining 



372 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

to their ancestral fathers of the days of Montezuma. 
The room in which Maximilian's gorgeous state car- 
riage stands was as crowded as any, but the throng 
was incessant everywhere. It is impossible to name, 
except by a catalogue, the articles and relics which 
most intensely stir the mind and affect the imagination 
as one passes through the dozen or so rooms, on two 
floors, where are gathered together curious and divers 
relics of Aztec, and perhaps of pre-Aztec, centuries, 
and then of the vice-regal years which followed, but 
not an object will fail to convey instruction and en- 
kindle curiosity. The three things which most interested 
me were the Sacrificial Stone, the Calendar Stone, and 
the great, two-faced, ugly Idol, nearly ten feet high and 
three feet across, of Huitzilopochtli. That Idol and 
the Sacrificial Stone were undoubtedly the very same 
which were upon the summit of the Great Teocalli, in 
the City of Mexico, when Cortez hurled them from 
the top to the bottom of that structure. The Calendar 
Stone, twelve and one-half feet in diameter, three feet 
thick and weighing 60,000 pounds, was set in the walls 
of the same temple. After the Teocalli was pulled 
down it was buried in the earth, but was found in 
1790, and placed in the west tower of the Cathedral; 
and in 1885 it was removed to the Musetmi. Both 
the Calendar and Sacrificial Stones are said to have 
been duplicates of earlier ones quarried at Coyoacan 
and dragged on wooden rollers over the causeway 
to be placed on the summit of the Great Teocalli, 
but on the way they broke down a bridge and 
were lost in the lake. New ones were ordered, 
and these, by the efforts of five thousand workmen, 
who renewed and strengthened the bridge, got them 
into place in 1478 when Axayacatl was king. At their 
dedication he sacrificed the modest number of seven 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 373 

hundred and twenty-eight human victims; presumably 
he had no more prisoners. The Sacrificial Stone is 
figured with warriors holding prisoners of sacrifice by 
the hair, and clearly shows the uses to which it has 
been put, and yet, strange to say, there are no traces 
on it of stains of blood. Were the Aztecs so particular 
in using water to remove all blood the moment their 
day's holocaust was ended? There are other gods, 
and heads of serpents, etc., all found near the Temple, 
which are almost as interesting as the three named 
stones. After these things I cared most for Maximil- 
ian's state carriage in gold and crimson, as fresh and 
clean and perfect in colorings and preservation as if 
made only yesterday, and for the banner of Cortez, 
carried by him through his Mexican wars. There 
are interesting skulls and bones from ancient graves, 
many curious birds and fishes, tons of miscellaneous 
Aztec-made pottery, gold ornaments, carved shells, 
sacrificial knives, idols, etc. One cannot well study 
the manners and customs of ancient Mexico without 
visiting this large and growing collection, which has 
already become the pride of the city. 

The burial-place of Juarez in the small, walled-in 
cemetery northwest of the Alameda, in the Pantheon 
de San Fernando, adjoining the church of that name, 
is an odd and striking tomb, and the surroundings 
quite as strange. 

"Here Juarez sleeps in divine repose, 
His effigy in marble robes arrayed, 
And in the statued lap of Freedom laid 
As pure as the Sierra Madre's snows." 

The great constitutional president, he of pure Indian 
blood, whose genuine nerve and intelligent purpose 
saved Mexico many times from disaster as a new Re- 
public, died in 1872, at the age of sixty-six years, hav- 



374 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

ing been lawyer, legislator, judge, senator, governor 
and three times president. He was at his death, and 
is to-day in history, the most remarkable man that 
Mexico ever produced. Without one drop of Spanish 
blood in his veins — he was a full fledged Zapotec — he 
had all the intense traits of the Aztec race, to which 
were added the knowledge and freedom of spirit that 
come to a well-educated man. He was dictator, for he 
had to be; reformer, for he probably earnestly sought 
to gain the best form of liberty for his countrymen, 
notwithstanding many of his earlier measures appear 
unnecessarily harsh; and he laid broad and deep the 
foundations of what the Mexican Republic now is, a 
structure approaching real strength and with much 
show of permanency. The excitability of the people 
he had to face, if not to encourage; he did his part 
bravely and in his death was profoundly lamented. 
It is a curious sight to see this high, openwork monu- 
ment, wherein he lies at full length, prostrate in the 
arms of an angel of Freedom, surrounded by artificial 
mortuary wreaths from all the states of Mexico. Here, 
as Mr. Noll aptly says, he " rests within the shadow of 
the church he persecuted, surrounded by the ruined 
walls of a monastery, dismantled and left to decay in 
obedience to his decree, and midway between the 
tombs of two gallant men executed by his orders." 
Juarez did not spare the state church of the Spaniards 
in his decrees, and the confiscation of much of its 
vast treasures was the chief blot upon his fame. There 
are tombs of other great men, like Comonfort, Zara- 
goza, Guerrero, but that of Juarez will always attract 
the most attention. The spot is one no visitor should 
miss, if only to witness the close relationship of ene- 
mies when they come to lie down for their last sleep. 
But a place that interested me even more, because 



TBNOCHTITDAN, OLD AND NEW 375 

of its older historic memories, was the church and 
churchyard of San Hipolito on the adjoining block of 
g-round, to which I have referred a few pages back, 
the soil under which was wet through and through 
on that "Dismal Night" of Cortez, July i, 1520. 
Here was the second line of defences of the northern 
causeway. Cortez was escaping from the city. The 
Indians were upon him to cut off his retreat; they 
were on the water, he upon the causeway. A portion 
got over the breach in the causeway, Cortez leading 
them, but Magarino was behind with his artillery and 
the most of the soldiery. The struggle was so deadly, 
the slaughter was so fearful, that when Cortez, a few 
miles farther on, sat under a great cypress tree (now 
in the midst of the suburb-village of Popotla) and 
counted up his lost companions, he buried his bronzed 
face in his hands and wept. The tree under which he 
sat still stands; I conjectured its girth as best I could 
(as it is railed off to prevent desecration), and thought 
it was about sixty feet around; a magnificent specimen 
of an aged, lightning-struck monarch, yet alive after 
a thousand years or more of striving with the cold 
winds of winter and the hot blasts of summer. San 
Hipolito church has this inscription cut in me- 
dallion upon its high street wall : " So great 
was the slaughter of Spaniards by the Aztecs in this 
place on the night of July i, 1520, named for this reason 
"The Dismal Night," that, after having the following 
year reentered the city triumphantly, the conquerors 
resolved to build here a Chapel of the Martyrs, which 
should be dedicated to San Hipolito, because the cap- 
ture of the city occurred upon that Saint's day." For 
nearly three hundred years after there was annually 
celebrated here the " Procession of the Banner," in 



876 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

which the crimson flag borne by Cortez, now in the 
Museum, was a feature of the procession. 

Speaking of deaths and burials reminds me that if 
one would see how the Mexicans of to-day inter their 
dead, he must not go to any cemetery or church in 
the city, but out to the Dolores, on the hillside near 
Tacubaya. The electric car goes there in one hour, 
and, daily, funeral cars, bringing the dead, hasten to 
that wooded summit of ground to deposit their human 
offerings. It is a sorrowful sight, none more so in all 
that land, especially because the bulk of the mourners, 
who accompany the body in a closed car following the 
open, black, funeral car, are usually poor and plainly 
dressed, and the coffins are of the simplest construc- 
tion. In fact the coffins for the poorer class are 
rented; the ground where mother, father or child is 
buried is rented; and when the brief term or lease ex- 
pires — a few months later, perhaps, at most a year or 
two — the bodies are taken out and placed in a common 
trench, and the grave used for other renters. I saw 
infants and children carried in unpainted coffins to 
the grave from the car, each on the shoulders of a man, 
with only two mourners following, and was told the 
body was put into a trench, poverty preventing the 
purchase of the coffin, and the coffin was taken back to 
the salesroom. This is Spanish : it is so in Havana, and 
so in the great capital City of Mexico. Even in San 
Fernando's pantheon of graves, holes in the wall sur- 
rounding the enclosure show that " rents had expired " 
and that the bodies had been disinterred and committed 
to pauper's earth. 

In this great cemetery, to which the black or yel- 
low cars go in bunches every afternoon, (the yellow 
ones are for "first-class " funerals), are over one hun- 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW Sit 

dred thousand graves. Pine, cedar and eucalyptus 
trees offer abundant shade, but there is no grass. 

Thirteen feet below the present level of the City 
of Mexico excavations have brought to light — in 1903 
— monoliths and masonry which were standing on the 
then surface of the ground of ancient Tenochtitlan. 
Captain Porfirio Diaz, son of the President, a former 
student in a school in our country, one of whose class- 
mates was with me during my stay in Mexico, was the 
uncoverer of these relics of the Montezuma days just 
a few months before my visit ; and when he brought to 
light the corner-piece of the great wall of the " House 
of Many Gods," the oldest and best-known of the ^\z- 
tec temples, where officiated a thousand — some say 
seven thousand — priests, he recognized what archaeo- 
logical surprises mJght be in store around and under 
the Cathedral Plaza, if only he could excavate to his 
heart's content. These foundations were opened at 
two squares' distance from the Plaza; the Cathedral 
itself doubtless stands on much of the ruins of the 
Temple. Idols, incense gum, spearheads and orna- 
ments, perhaps the same flung down at the base of the 
steps to the Temple by the conquerors in their rage 
at the worship and worshipers, were uncovered. 

The street scenes of the city are always strange and 
misfitting. As successors to Aztec scenes you do not 
expect to see fine turnouts, or gentlemen in elegant 
dress, and ladies of modern fashion, but they are here. 
Real Aztecs are here also; they live in tenements, or 
come in from the country after walking, perhaps, 
all night, the sombreroed men with bright zerapes, 
and the women barefooted and bareheaded, their low 
stature, brown, round faces, jet black, straight hair, 
and children often on their backs in a " bundle,'* prov- 
ing their origin. There is no mistaking a real Indian. 

24 



378 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

The mixed races may be more profuse in speech and 
more up-to-the-times, but the native races are pecuHarly 
gentle, tractable, solemn, sad. " Why is it," said 
one American to another, in my presence, " that an 
Indian girl never laughs?" And the inquired of, who 
was now a business man of that country, a driver of 
wells and successful in getting water in desert places, 
replied: " Because they are born with the feeling of 
absolute hopelessness stamped on their entire nature." 
It seemed to be true. Boys would laugh and play as 
other boys; girls were inexpressibly melancholy, or 
at best wholly impassive. I loved to watch the move- 
ments of some of the adult pure-bloods of both sexes ; 
especially at Orizaba and at Guadalupe. I won- 
dered what they knew, what they thought, of their 
ancestry and its former greatness and pride. Were 
they cognizant of it all? Did they feel that the mod- 
ern Juggernaut of a new civilization had crushed 
them? They are now Catholics; millions of them go 
to the church founded by Cortez and the retinue of 
priests who followed wherever he marched. But their 
language and customs are often as of old; these perish 
last in the march of a nation. What are termed Mex- 
ican languages are still spoken by nearly four millions 
of people; nearly all the rest of the thirteen and one- 
half millions of people in Mexico speak, of course, the 
Spanish tongue. But to think that one-fourth of the 
population still converse with one another as the Az- 
tecs, the Tlaxcalans, the Cholulans, talked, in what, 
generally speaking, was the Nahuatl language! 

Some people while in the city love to haunt the 
National Pawnship and go to the Sunday bull-fight, 
which is almost a travesty on the greater spectacular 
scene in Madrid, and some find pleasure in lining up 
on the Calle San Francisco, or the Avenue de Jua- 



TENOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 379 

rez, to watch the young men cast glances, make love 
signs and blow kisses, with the fingers parted like a fan, 
ta the wealthy young seiioritas, who are out driving 
with their mammas about sundown. The latter does in- 
terest for a while, for here one sees the first, if not the 
only, chance the young men get to pick out their sweet- 
hearts ; and it may be a long while before they can go 
a step nearer to these sweethearts' homes. Courting 
is at long range in Spanish countries; I have seen it 
carried on with the mother in closest proximity, for she 
must not let the daughters under such circumstances 
go out of sight. But I should say that all these mat- 
ters, like the lottery tickets everywhere for sale, are 
so strictly Spanish that their interest soon vanishes 
for an American ; besides you can see more pawnshops, 
better bull-fights and more charming flirtations in Se- 
ville and Granada, and, excepting the bull-fights, in Ha- 
vana. The language and faces of the old Indian races, 
not vanishing in Mexico, but absolutely non-progres- 
sive, quiescent, mummified, just as Cortez found them, 
are there still, and were to me far more enkindling to 
the imagination and impressive as an object lesson. 
Very poor, they are still proud ; wanting nothing, they 
live close to mother earth ; and they weave and spin, 
make cakes of maize and drink pulque, and love orna- 
ments and flowers, just as did their more illustrious 
ancestors of twelve generations ago. 

Now that we are still in the City of Mexico, which 
was the head-centre of the Aztec race and religion, some 
words more upon this strange and anomalous race 
may not be out of place before closing this chapter. 
That it settled in this region only six hundred years 
ago, and in the course of two hundred years evolved 
so much that is assimilated to civilization, has always 
been a matter of wonder to historians and archseolo- 



380 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

gists. John Fiske takes the ground that the North 
American Indians, of whom the Toltecs, Aztecs and 
kindred nations, or tribes, in Mexico were the most 
progressive examples, and the Peruvians of South 
America, (practically their brothers), were not late- 
comers from the Old World. *' The aboriginal Indian 
as we know himi," he says, " with his language and leg- 
ends, his physical and mental peculiarities, his social 
observances and customs, is most emphatically a na- 
tive and not an imported article. He belongs to the 
American continent as strictly as its opossums and 
armadillos, its maize and its goldenrod. ... In 
all probability he came from the Old World at some 
ancient period, whether pre-glacial or post-glacial, 
when it was possible to come by land. . . . There 
is not a particle of evidence to suggest any connection 
or intercourse between aboriginal America and Asia 
within any such period as the last twenty thousand 
years, except in so far as there may perhaps now and 
then have been slight surges of Eskimo tribes back 
and forth across Bering strait." Such a positive state- 
ment by such a student of history and ethnology can- 
not lightly be set aside. All the more interesting, then, 
is this Indian race in all its manifold developments. 

Mr. Fiske does not undertake to interpret the signs 
of immense differentiation in these redskins from 
Champlain to the Caribbean Sea; from' the lowest sav- 
ages to the highest type of barbarians. In truth he 
could not. The facts are not at hand, and never will 
be, for a history of the red men (or brown men, as they 
may be more justly described), and without some ac- 
tual history of them long prior to the discovery of 
America there is no basis on which to found even re- 
spectable theories. It would be delightful to surmise, 
however imperfectly, how it was that the Toltecs of the 



TBNOCHTITLAN, OLD AND NEW 381 

South were so far in advance of the Algonquins of the 
North; why such a vast gulf stood between them. The 
one class of peoples built great edifices of stone, knew 
the use of gold and silver and had artistic tastes ; the 
other class lived in wigwams, though in the colder 
region, raised no memorials to ancestors or to gods, 
and used only the baser metals in the commonest of 
ways. The one understood merchandising and inter- 
nal commerce to a marked degree; the other fished, 
hunted and bartered as have all savages the world 
over. Whence came the superior tact, knowledge, 
prevision, generalship, wealth, comfort, government, 
religion, of those Mexican nations, as they were dis- 
covered to exist by Cortez and his brave band? Who 
knows? All the more is it keenly suggestive to pry 
into their ruined cities and visit the museums south of 
the Rio Grande, where skulls, amulets, sacrificial al- 
tars, shields, banners, spears, jewelry, tapestries and 
stones from sculptured buildings reveal to us the size, 
customs, arts, weapons of war and tools of peace, of 
the curious inhabitants of the great plateau of the cen- 
tral Cordillera of America. 



XXL— SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN. 

ONE DAY I went out to the fortress-crowned 
heights of Chapultepec. The best way to 
reach it is by driving down the famous Paseo 
de la Reforma, a broad boulevard, lined with trees 
and statues, running straight from the city two miles 
to the summer residence of President Diaz, which 
is at the end of the clififs of Chapultepec, otherwise 
known as " The Hill of the Grasshopper." Here in the 
afternoon all the nobility and semi-nobility — perhaps 
it is more accurate to- say all the wealthy people — of 
the city, drive in their elegant equipages, dressed as 
if proceeding to some fete. 

I regret not to have spent more time sitting quietly 
in one of the four glorietas (circles) of the Paseo, to 
watch the endless procession of carriages and men on 
horseback, which passes by from four o'clock in the 
afternoon till sundown. It is a scene not paralleled 
outside of the Bois de Boulogne in Paris, or the 
Parque de Madrid in Madrid. Take a chair in either 
glorieta, be lazy, and just indulge the eye and mind, 
and it will not grow wearisome. If you do tire, look at 
the colossal statues, one in each of these huge circles, 
some hundreds of yards apart. There is one to Colum- 
bus, great discoverer, without whose voyage Cortez 
might never have seen this strange land. Then one 
to Guatemotzin, or Cuauhtemoc, (name of the varied 
spellings), the last and greatest Aztec prince, whom 
Cortez put to death, but whom the modern Indians 
honor above all their former sovereigns. His monu- 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 383 

ment is, to my eye, one of the most artistic in the whole 
world. Then Hidalgo, in bronze, twenty feet in 
height; he earned and bears the title of " The Father 
of Mexican Independence." Then Juarez, the latest 
great statesman to precede Diaz. This Paseo, as it 
leaves the city, is marked by the greatest monument 
of all, the work of Tolsa — that of Charles IV. of Spain, 
on horseback, the first bronze statue ever cast in 
America. It was made of one piece in 1802, weighs 
60,000 pounds, and was declared by Humboldt to be 
the finest ever cast next to the monument of Marcus 
AureHus in Rome. Carlotta, the Empress, dowered 
with the sad fate of lunacy, but still living, was the 
creator of this Paseo in its present beautiful condition, 
and it has well been said to be the last and best bequest 
of the Empire to the Republic. What a contrast the 
sights on this Paseo, now, to the processions of In- 
dians on foot, taking Montezuma back and forth in his 
chair of state from his palace in Tenochtitlan to his 
summer retreat on that precipitous summit! Then 
horses were unknown; only the swift feet of human 
runners carried chieftains, or bore despatches, to and 
from the royal residence at Chapultepec. Now a drive- 
way winds around the base of the hill, and soon one is 
perhaps a hundred feet above the plain, upon a van- 
tage ground on which a panorama even more marvel- 
ous than that from the Guadalupe heights is visible, 
to north and east, for full fifty miles in each direction. 
As I stood there, in front of the Palace of Diaz, in 
fact within its gardens, which from their great height 
above all surroundings seemed like the gardens of 
Babylon, my mind swept back over six and more cen- 
turies, and all that it had brought forth for Mexico. I 
was where Montezuma's unofficial homelife was once 
spent; the spot to which he retired when weary with 



384 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

cares of state. It was the ancient Valley of Anahuac 
that he loved so well that lay at my feet. I could see, 
as it were, the city of Tenochtitlan, and beyond it the 
heights of Guadalupe ; then the Lake of Texcoco, into 
whose depths the treasures Cortez failed to secure on 
his second entry into the capital were said to have 
been thrown; and, running down toward me, was at 
least one of the long causeways over which the Aztec 
chieftains, before and during the days of Montezuma, 
were borne in their palanquins, by warriors " plumed 
and feathered." Yonder to the right is Tacubaya, once 
Atlacoloayan, where are now the finest of the sum- 
mer homes of the wealthiest people of the capital. It 
is on a slope above the reach of inundations that form- 
erly threatened the valley, and is full of trees; the 
prettiest spot for residence in all the plain. Be- 
yond that, Coyoacan, older than Mexico, long the resi- 
dence of Cortez, the first capital of his government; 
and very near that spot lies Churubusco, seat of a gal- 
lant defence by Mexican troops in August, 1847, 
against the American army under Generals Smith, 
Worth and Twiggs. Churubusco had a temple to 
fierce Huitzilopochtli and had a bad name as the 
abode of evil spirits. But the chief spectacles are yet 
to be told: those two great peaks, isolated, white with 
snow, sublime with the thrill of the ages, believed by 
the Indians to be the mountains of their gods — Popo- 
catepetl, " the hill that smokes," and Ixtaccihuatl, 
" the white woman," or ''' wife " of the first-named vol- 
canic monster; the one 17,782 feet above the sea, more 
than 2,000 feet higher than Mont Blanc, the other 16,- 
060 feet, each massive, stately, inspiring, beautiful. 
When Cortez climbed Popocatepetl, he made the first- 
known ascent of a perpetually-crowned snowpeak in 
the world, and the sulphur he took out of it for use in 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 385 

making gunpowder proved the shrewdness of his 
mind. I doubt if any Indian had ever cUmbed that 
mountain before Cortez: to the Aztec it was the en- 
trance to the infernal regions, or the mouth of a cruel 
god, and they were in constant awe of it. 

How could one wonder that here, on this height, 
nay anywhere in this valley, with those twin mountains 
ever in sight, a royal race should sit down to rest. What 
a serene and salubrious home! What was there more 
to be desired than this rich valley, which they could 
irrigate in summer until abundant harvests grew, and 
where the wonderful maguey plant gave meat, drink, 
clothing and almost everything needed by this curious 
and hardy race. The maguey must come in for a de- 
scription later; Mexico would never have been com- 
plete, nor quite as peculiar as it is, without it. As I 
looked again over this valley, I saw, however, how 
diflferent it looked now from the days of Cortez. Then 
the waters of Texcoco came directly to the base of 
Chapultepec; now it is ten miles away. It was glim- 
mering in the sun here at one's feet as the ancestors of 
Montezuma were brought to this hill to the place of 
their burial. The causeways north, south, east and 
west of the capital, on which to-day run the lines of 
iron railways on which swift trolleys bear thousands of 
descendants of the Spaniards daily, were needed then, 
in order to secure dry passage from the island city. 
The waters have subsided; meadows are everywhere 
in one broad expanse, with waving harvests and cul- 
tivated fields. This " Hill of the Grasshopper " con- 
tained, then, springs from which pure water was con- 
veyed in pipes along the south causeway to Tenochti- 
tlan. About these springs and clambering all over the 
hill were giant cypresses, some of them here still, fifty 
feet in girth, grim old giants of now a thousand 



386 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

years, silent witnesses of the scenes of carnage which 
marked the progress of the Conqueror, when he hum- 
bled in the dust the proud chieftain that had so often 
sat under their shade. I know no such melancholy 
monument of Montezuma's reign as this of the hand- 
ful of venerable cypresses at Chapultepec, the few sur- 
vivors of the great grove that Cortez cut to the ground, 
whose branches must have been as inviting as were the 
lordly cedars on Mount Lebanon. In the days of 
Humboldt he estimated the largest of them to be at 
least sixteen hundred years old and sixty feet in cir- 
cumference. One of them is still called '' The Tree of 
Montezuma," and perhaps it looked almost as venera- 
ble to him, when he sat beneath its shade and sorrowed 
over the griefs of his fallen race, as it does to-day. 

A thousand wives, if we are to believe the Spanish 
historians, were the companions of this modern Solo- 
mon, the brave, proud Montezuma, the dweller on this 
holy hill. He had no such magnificent palace as Diaz, 
but he had what was more royal still, and more beauti- 
ful, a prodigal store of the many trees and shrubs witK 
which Nature had stocked this cliff, and in which, I 
doubt not, the young ruler of at least several hundred 
thousand people revelled in the heated afternoons of 
every summer day. To-day there is not a sign, save 
those cypress trees, those two colossal mountains, 
that lake glistening in the distance, and this rock- 
ribbed base of Chapultepec, to tell the visitor precisely 
what could have been seen by Aztec eyes in that fatal 
month of August, 1521, one year after Cortez wept, 
when that commander demolished the city of Tenoch- 
titlan and began, from his one-storied abode in front 
of the park of Coyoacan, to rebuild the capital and 
make it the centre of a new religion and a foreign dom- 
ination. 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 387 

Within the Diaz Palace there was sumptuousness, yet 
everything was soHd and in good taste. It was not then 
occupied, so far as I could see, but the good, sturdy 
common sense of its possessor forbade his closing even 
his private residence to strangers, who are always wel- 
com.ed to it when he is not in actual residence. 

Close to the Palace, and crowning the southern 
portion of the hill, is the National Military Academy, 
a long stone building, where are trained the soldiers 
of the Republic. The standing army of Mexico con- 
sists of about thirty thousand men and three thousand 
officers, and includes the ** Rurales," said to be the fin- 
est body of horsemen in the world. Diaz knew how 
to put to use the bandits of his country, who were so 
troublesome in former years. He asked them to be- 
come the country police: mounted police, and at a 
fair salary. This gave them a chance to reform from 
thefts and deeds of violence, and they quickly donned 
pleasing uniforms and assumed the airs of grandees 
on ponies. It is said they are about two thousand 
strong, and as honest and loyal a set of men as ever 
guarded the peace of any country. They were given 
a military education so far as they would take it, and, 
with richly decorated saddles on the finest of horses, 
they may be seen any day at all the stations along the 
railways, guarding trains and people from plunder and 
disorder. 

The same electric tramway that runs to Chapultepec 
proceeds to Tacubaya, at the distance of about a mile 
and a-half, and then, six miles further on, after passing 
through Mixcoac and San Angel, reaches Coyoacan. 
Tacubaya has about eight thousand souls, and is the 
spot where, after one of the greatest of the ancient in- 
undations of Lake Texcoco, in 1634, the people 
thought of relocating the City of Mexico. Here is the 



388 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

National Astronomical Observatory, and here are the 
large and beautiful private gardens and residences 
of the wealthier citizens of the capital. There is a 
curious market in the chief square, and the amount 
of gambling prevalent has given to it the name of the 
''Monte Carlo of Mexico." There are bull-fights and 
cock-fights by way of extra diversion. But, for its his- 
toric associations, commend me to Coyoacan, which 
was the real capital in Cortez's day, while the Con- 
queror was rebuilding the city of Tenochtitlan, which 
he had first razed to the ground. At Coyoacan the 
desolate Cathedral grounds and one-story " Palace " 
speak volumes of former days when the Spanish in- 
vaders gathered there to worship God and establish 
despotism. That " Palace " stands on the north side 
of a large plaza, which is full of trees and destitute of 
people. It has a wide veranda, which is but a step up 
from the sidewalk, and in it is the room whence issued 
the " bulletins " of Cortez that directed the army and 
the preachers what to do in the building of a new 
Spanish dependence. Immediately after he took quar- 
ters there, he gave a banquet, and the wine then poured 
out was said to be, in amount and in effect, " scanda- 
lous." The chaplain of Cortez, being much offended, 
preached next Sunday a sermon against such riotous 
doings, and commanded all the officers to do penance 1 
Plere Cortez dwelt with his faithful La Marina, in 
whose life, as connected with the movements of the 
troops from the sea to the capital, there is wrapped 
up a whole bundle of romance, pluck and sagacity. 
Over the main doorway are still to be seen the graven 
arms of the Conqueror, and if the well in the garden 
of another house near by, in which according to popu- 
lar tradition Cortez drowned his former wife, is not 
really connected with any such fact, still it is a well of 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 389 

that period and calls for the usual sympathetic excla- 
mations from tourists. Perhaps she was, and perhaps 
she was not, buried under the immense, cross-crowned 
mound in the churchyard, but I can beheve that tale 
more readily than the other. 

And now, near this cross, we are in sight of one 
of the old, old churches marking the Cortez period, 
and a goodly sight it is. How serene and peaceful the 
surroundings! Built first in 1530 and again in an en- 
larged state in 1583, it is, within and without, one of 
the best relics of that time that I came across in Mex- 
ico. It stands there beside the green like a great ship 
stranded. Only now and then through the week days 
does anybody enter or leave by its antiquated porch- 
door. Within it is immensely massive, yet severely 
plain, and would hold a congregation of many thou- 
sands. I saw a priest preaching a sermon to a dozen 
or so people, but all else was empty space, and it was 
dark and gloomy from stone pavement to topmost 
rafter. " St. John Baptist " is its Anglicized name, 
and it makes a wonderful picture in the camera, but 
probably has as small a congregation for its size as any 
ecclesiastical edifice in all that country. There was a 
college established in this spot by Cortez, and a con- 
vent; and these were two of the three public institu- 
tions to which, in his will, he left the revenues of his 
estates in the City of Mexico, in order that mission- 
aries might be sent forth to preach the Gospel among 
the natives, and that the convent nuns might distribute 
charities and do good deeds. To the chapel in this 
convent he directed the interment of his bones " in 
whatever quarter of the world he might happen to 
die." This proves his attachment to Coyoacan: it was 
his favorite spot, his home ; it was his resting-place in 
life, and intended to be his resting-place in death. Alas 



390 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

for the fickleness of posthumous fortune! He died 
at a little village near Seville, in Spain, on December 
2, 1547, aged sixty-three years, and was buried in Se- 
ville in the chapel of a monastery. Fifteen years later, 
by order of his son, his remains were carried to Mexi- 
co^ — New Spain, as it was then called — and interred, 
not at Coyoacan, but at the monastery of St. Francis 
in Texcoco, twenty miles east from the City of Mexi- 
co. Then, in the year 1629, his bones were again re- 
moved and buried in the grand Franciscan church in 
the City of Mexico, with high ecclesiastical and mili- 
tary honors. There they reposed for a hundred and 
sixty-five years (till 1794), when they were once more 
transported and placed in a marble sarcophagus in the 
Church of Jesus Nazareno in the same city. In 1823 a 
mob gathered, determined to break open the tomb 
and scatter the dust to the winds, but the descendants 
of Cortez became aware of it, and hid them in another 
portion of the same church. From here they soon 
sent them out of all harm's way to Italy, to rest finally 
in the Tomb of the Monteleones at Palermo. So at 
last Cortez had a resting-place, far away from La Ma- 
rina, from Coyoacan, from IMexico, from his own na- 
tive land, and under bright Sicilian skies his ashes 
may, perhaps, rest in permanent quiet. 

How great a general Cortez really was seems not 
to have been fully appreciated by most of his histo- 
rians. To my mind few generals in ancient and none in 
modern times had the same difficulties to meet, or met 
them so successfully. Out of over a hundred and twen- 
ty-five battles and conflicts he scarcely lost one; when 
he did, perchance, lose, it was always followed by the 
most unexpected regeneration and revivification of his 
forces, when he marched forth again — ^to conquer. By 
the power of his own resources, by the strength of 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 391 

his own will, by the masterfulness of his own courage, 
by the grit and grandeur of his own inherent martial 
character, he subdued the most warlike tribes of 
America in a manner that has astonished the world, 
and, save for the cruelty of some of his deeds, a cru- 
elty born of his day and nation, he deserves the high- 
est of honors as a military genius and leader of men. 
Some compare him to Hannibal; others to Alex- 
ander the Great; others to Napoleon. Some of the 
greatest qualities in each of these generals were in 
him, and I cannot help thinking that he succeeded 
beyond them all in putting his own stamp upon the 
land and the nations that he conquered. Had he been 
supported by his King in Spain as he deserved, nay, 
liad he been King, or Emperor, as were Alexander and 
Napoleon, he might have had a still more renowned 
name as Conqueror, as religious iconoclast and as law- 
giver. He might then have left Mexico, when he had 
there wTought all his tremendous work, and gone to 
Central America, to Peru, or to the real Indies, and 
continued the overturning of temples and customs and 
heathenish sacrifices, such as would have put the more 
cruel prowess of, say a Pizarro, to the blush! Spain 
never afterward had so great a man at the head of her 
armies in all her conquests. 

Now let us return to the City of Mexico as we 
came from it, and hasten to the north of the city, the 
distance of a short three miles, over the same cause- 
way (as to location) by which the Spaniards retreated 
in 1520, passing near the '' Dismal Night " cypress on 
our way, and take a brief look at Guadalupe-Hidalgo. 
We do not know at how early a period the hill back of 
the now famous church of " Our Lady of Guadalupe " 
was used as an Aztec place of worship, but certainly on 
this hill, then known as Tepeyacac, the Aztecs wor- 



392 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

shiped Tonantzin, the '' mother of the gods " of their 
reHgion. The Spaniards destroyed the ancient sanc-f 
tuary and its deities, but only to substitute another in 
its place. On the same historic ground General Zara^ 
goza repulsed the French in 1867, and five years later 
General Diaz there captured a French army, and that 
sealed the fate of MaximiHan. So that in religious and 
secular annals it is for Mexicans a sacred spot. From 
the square of Guadalupe, where stands the imposing 
church that cost over a million dollars in an age when 
labor and money were so cheap, to which edifice I shall 
revert presently, you ascend by a '' miraculous well," 
housed in a curious chapel with an enamelled tiled 
roof, (it is always full of natives seeking to drink 
from it, to be cured of disorders) ; and, after a stiff 
climb up a paved and zigzag roadway, reach the top. 
From here the view of the valley of Mexico is beautiful, 
only less so than from Chapultepec. On the summit is 
another chapel, the Capilla del Cerrito, the " Chapel of 
the Little Hill," and while no fete was in progress, nor 
anything unusual, I could scarcely crowd into it 
through the standing and kneeling worshipers. It 
is a stone chapel, plain in comparison with the other 
churches of this priestly land, and would hold, per- 
haps, a hundred people. This spot is w^here the roses 
bloomed " that sprang up at the Virgin's word." It 
is noticeable, possibly, that I am not a believer in, and 
do not care to repeat, the numberless myths that cluster 
around some of these " sacred " places in Mexico, and 
in Spain, where religious legends and strange stories of 
the Virgin and of saints are so abundant, but I shall 
briefly tell this story when I return to the main church 
at Guadalupe. Half way up this hill are the Stone 
Sails of Guadalupe; a curious monument in the form 
of the sails of a ship, erected at some unknown date 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 393 

by Spanish sailors, who, when in dire distress on the 
X ocean, vowed that, if the Virgin of Guadalupe would 
only bring them safely to port, they would place the 
foremast of their vessel upon this hill and set the sails 
before her shrine. 

There are so many curious sights along this hill- 
slope and at its foot that one likes to linger and view 
them. The majority of the hundreds of people who 
sit down on the ground and of¥er sweet cakes of In- 
dian corn, (que sadilla), pottery, various fruits and 
manufactured articles and edibles for sale, are women. 
Some live in the vicinity and make a business of it, but 
many must have come a hundred miles just to be near 
theVirgin of Guadalupe for a few days, and incidentally 
help pay their way by sale of fruits, cakes and wares. 
Some of the jugs for sale are singularly Aztec in form 
and appearance; they resemble ancient idols and are 
grotesque. The men usually stand about in their 
zerapes and are Hstless; the women are always con- 
versing, or silently observing the spectators. 

" Our Lady of Guadalupe," as the image of the 
Virgin is called, which gives such sacredness to the 
spot — it is the holiest shrine in Mexico — is a painting, 
framed, above the high altar of the vast and beautiful 
church at the hill's foot. Above it is a crown of gold 
and jewels, placed there as late as 1895, of untold val- 
ue; it was the gift of the rich women of Mexico, and 
the cost of its putting-together alone was $30,000. Says 
Campbell in his " Guide:" " In shape it is an imperial 
diadem, 62 centimeters high and 130 centimeters in 
circumference. There are twenty-two shields, repre- 
senting the twenty-two bishoprics of Mexico. Above 
these are angels circling the crown and upholding six 
other shields bearing the arms of the six Archbishops 
of Mexico. From the wings of the angels are festoons 

25 



394 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

of roses and diamonds, gathered at the top, under a 
globe showing Mexico and the Gulf. Surmounting 
the whole is the eagle of Mexico, bearing in its talons 
a diamond cross. The crown is held above the image 
on the tilma by a cherub. The shields are surrounded 
by emeralds and sapphires, and on the breast of each 
angel is a blazing ruby. Altogether it is the finest 
jewel used in religious ceremonies in existence." 
When this crown was placed above " Our Lady " it 
was, said the chronicler, " the scene of a lifetime." 
Archbishops and bishops from the United States, Can- 
ada and Cuba attended, and all because they believed 
the image, now almost four hundred years old, was 
painted by a miracle. This is the story of it, in brief: 
In 1 53 1 a pious Indian, Juan Diego, on a Saturday 
morning, when passing by this hill of Tepeyacac (now 
Guadalupe) heard singing; looking up, a lady ap- 
peared and told him to go to the Bishop and bid him 
build a temple to her honor on this hill; then she van- 
ished as she had come. The Bishop was incredulous. 
He returned to the spot, the lady reappeared, and told 
him to come again next day, which was Sunday. The 
lady told him to repeat the message to the Bishop. 
The latter then told Juan to go and bring him an un- 
mistakable token of such a miraculous appearance. 
He again met the lady, who again said : '' Return to- 
morrow." " Then returned Juan Diego to his house, 
and found that his uncle, Juan Bernardino, was ill with 
the fever cocolixtli, so that he must wait at home and at- 
tend him. Early on the morning of December 12th, 
the sick man being at the point of death, Juan Diego 
started to Tlaltelolco to call a confessor; fearing that 
he might be delayed if he met the lady, and that his 
uncle might die unconfessed, he went another v/ay, 
around the other side of the hill. But, behold! She 




^Miraculous Picture'' of '•'•Our Lady of Guadalupe. 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 395 

was there, coming down the hill and calling to him; 
he told her of his uncle's illness and of his need for a 
confessor, but she assured him that his uncle was al- 
ready well. Then the lady told him to gather flowers 
from the barren rocks on top of the hill, and imm.e- 
diately the flowers grew where none had ever been be- 
fore; she commanded him to take these flowers to the 
Bishop as the token he had desired, and to show them 
to no other until the Bishop had looked upon them." 
From the place where the Virgin (for she it was) stood, 
"a spring of clear, cold water gushed forth." Juan took 
the flowers folded in his tilma (his cloak) to the Bishop, 
and, as he dropped them at the holy father's feet, " up- 
on the tilma appeared the image of the Virgin, Holy 
Mary, in the most beautiful colors." And so it came to 
pass that the chapel was built where the roses had mi- 
raculously grown from the rocks in December, and a 
chapel over the well; and in the first-mentioned chapel, 
erected hastily in less than one month, on Feb. 7, 1532, 
the tilma with its holy image was placed over the altar. 

Two hundred years later the Virgin of Guadalupe 
was made the patron saint of Mexico. Later still, in 
1754, a Papal bull officially proclaimed the Virgin " the 
Protectress and Patroness of New Spain," giving her the 
highest place of honor in the church calendar of Mexi- 
co. The first church of 1532 gave way in 1622 to a 
larger church, where the tilma remained nearly a cen- 
tury, except for a period of four years, when it was 
housed within the Cathedral of the City of Mexico. 

Among the first acts of the Congress of Mexico, in 
1824, was that of creating December twelfth as a na- 
tional holiday. The Emperor Iturbide had previously 
created the Order of the Virgin of Guadalupe as the 
highest decoration of his court. In 1695 another, the 
present great, church was erected at the foot of the 



396 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

hill, and it was dedicated in 1709, though it is not yet 
fully finished within as it is intended to be. The mag- 
nificent altar, which is a mass of Carrara marble, is 
in the centre of the church, and there is a splendor in 
the columns and arches, and a beauty in the modula- 
tions of colors, which make of the whole edifice a ver- 
itable cathedral. Millions of dollars have been poured 
out to make this notable among Roman Catholic 
buildings in the world, and the effort is a success; it 
is far finer and richer in its interior than the larger 
Cathedral in the City of Mexico, which is Over three 
times its size. This church of Guadalupe is less than 
two hundred by one hundred and twenty-two feet; the 
Cathedral of the City of Mexico is four hundred and 
twenty-five by two hundred feet. 

I saw the noted picture, but at such a distance — it 
hangs up very high above the altar — that judgment 
of it as a work of art is impossible. Photographs, 
however, show it to be a work of considerable grace 
in outline and detail; in fact, the ensemble is almost 
that of the typical figure of the Virgin as painted by 
the Spanish school in the days of the actual " miracle/' 

I advise no one to visit the City of Mexico and fail 
to go to Guadalupe. The little town of three thousand 
people has nothing else of special interest than what 
has been described, but the view from the Cerrito and 
then the chapels, the church, the picture, and especial- 
ly the people, intense in their devotions and supera- 
bounding in faith in the Virgin and in the well, will 
never be forgotten. It is more wholly characteristic 
of how thoroughly the new religion transformed the 
fanaticism of the followers of Huitzilopochtli into the 
idolatry of the image-worshiping followers of the Vir- 
gin Mary than any I have seen in any part of Mexico. 

The visit to the '' Floating Gardens " on the La 



SURROUNDINGS OF TEMSTOGHTITLAN 397 

Viga canal I am obliged to say was more disappoint- 
ing than any other one interesting feature in the vi- 
cinity of the City of Mexico. I had heard of how on 
these Floating Gardens flowers grew so abundantly; 
and they do. But it is not probable that the gardens 
ever floated, and certainly they were never reached in 
the days of Montezuma by a route so odorous of filth 
and so abounding in miserable, dirty people as that 
now necessary to take to reach them. One drives to 
the worst quarter of the city, where filth and disease 
go hand in hand, and amid smells almost unsufiferable 
takes a flat-bottomed boat, with an awning to protect 
from the sun, which is paddled and sometimes poled 
by one or two men. These boats are likened to 
gondolas, but have nothing in common with the mod- 
ernized harchetta of the Adriatic. Still, it is a gala sight 
to see and pass scores of boats with gay-colored cano- 
pies, and there is some delight in the sensation, of 
course, especially as one remembers how over this 
Canal for centuries Mexicans have passed from their 
capital up to Lakes Xochimilco and Chalco, which lie 
southeast of the city, and note that the old and quaint 
villages which are above the route would almost be 
desolate of inhabitants could they not use this water- 
route by which to take their vegetables and articles 
of barter to the great city markets. Everything that 
is marketable is to be seen, upon every description of 
craft, though chiefly upon large flat-bottomed boats 
that are poled along at a snail's pace. Hay and wood 
and charcoal and truck of all kinds, and ducks and 
gt&SQ^ and donkeys and other floating menageries, pass 
along; a very curious spectacle. The dust from the 
roadway, which parallels the Viga on both sides, was 
terrific, and filled our eyes so that we could scarcely 
see; due, of course, to a strong wind blowing, which 



398 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

is the rule in the springtime oi the year. We stopped 
at Santa Anita, which is a primitive village of houses 
that are mostly thatched, and where the people revel 
on Sundays in all sorts of Coney Island amusements. 
At one place, perhaps before we reached Santa Anita, 
we visited the hacienda of Juan Corona. He was said 
to have been valiant as a bull-fighter, and was a philan- 
thropist. Anyhow, he had a hobby for gathering 
curios, and, next to the National Museum, I saw there 
more strange memorials of the past centuries in 
Aztec and Spanish Mexico than, perhaps, is gathered 
together elsewhere in the Republic. His rugs of wild 
beasts, collections of birds, old tapestries, idols, Indian 
costumes and what not, are intensely interesting. There 
is no charge to see this house, which is large and as 
cleanly kept as a Holland farmhouse, but the ladies 
who keep it will not refuse the usual gift when you 
depart. 

We walked over the las chinampas, which is the 
Spanish equivalent of floating gardens, and found a 
good soil, trenches of water, some tropical plants, 
many roses and other flowers, but no evidences of 
special thrift or unusual beauty. The City of Mexico 
has famous flower markets, and I believe they are 
chiefly supplied from these gardens. They looked like 
the ordinary, deep-soil, truck gardens to be found in 
the vicinity of most large cities. Prescott believed in 
these gardens and spoke of them as " that archipelago 
of wandering islands," that " had their origin in the 
detached masses of earth, which, loosening from the 
shores, were still held together by the fibrous roots 
with which they were penetrated." He thinks the Az- 
tecs made ** rafts of reeds, rushes and other fibrous 
materials, which, tightly knit together, formed a suffi- 
cient basis for the sediment that they drav*^ up from 



SURROUNDINGS OF TENOCHTITLAN 399 

the bottom of the lake. Gradually islands were formed 
two or three hundred feet in length, and three or four 
feet in depth, with a rich, stimulated soil." Maybe so! 
Perhaps they rose and fell with the waters and so 
moved like enchanted islands. But, if so, these fea- 
tures have all disappeared. The islands, so-called, are 
soHd; in fact. Lake Tezcoco itself that surrounded 
them is miles away, and they are at last cemented for 
all time to the bosom of Mother Earth. 



XXII.— TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA. 

THE DAY CAME, all too soon to obtain a prop- 
er knowledge of the Mexicans themselves in 
their capital city, but none too quickly to hie 
away from poor hotel accommodations and from 
clouds of dust, when I started for the coast again, this 
time by the Interoceanic Railway. This route is al- 
together superior in scenic interest to the Mexican 
Railway, which runs more directly to and from Vera 
Cruz. It is more zigzag and longer, and the whole dis- 
tance is not covered in the course of an ordinary day's 
journey; in fact, to see the landscape by daylight, it is 
necessary to break the journey on the Interoceanic at 
Puebla, while on the other railway nearly all of it can 
be seen between early morning and sundown. It is 
well that it is so; it removes the temptation to travel- 
ers to traverse a region fraught with so much of nat- 
ural beauty, for no one ever pauses at Puebla and re- 
grets the detention. 

On the whole I am quite certain that, starting from 
the City of Mexico at 8.10 in the morning, and reach- 
ing Puebla at 1.30 in the afternoon — a distance of only 
eighty miles as the crow flies, but one hundred and 
thirty miles by rail — the traveler will be greatly sur^ 
prised at the evidences of thrift, richness of soil and 
luxuriance of vegetable plants that will greet his eyes, 
in contrast to the paucity of these things on the line 
of the other railway between Puebla Junction and the 
City of Mexico. He will have Popocatepetl and Ixtac- 
cihautl in front of or beside him for nearly the whole 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 401 

journey, and the eye never seems to weary of these 
monarchs, now so quiet, and yet in times past active 
volcanoes. 

Leaving Mexico one soon comes again upon the 
maguey, or pulque plant, and perhaps it is a good 
place here in which to say a few words concerning it. 
We call it the century plant, but how long it lives no 
one seems to know; it does not require a hundred 
years for flowering, and when it does finally flow- 
er it is ready to die. From eight to twelve years only 
are necessary for the plant to reach sufficient perfection 
to give out the sap, which is the most popular drink 
of the people. Thereafter its leaves can be taken for 
thatching, or for making paper or thread; pins and 
needles can be made out of its thorns, and its root 
makes a palatable food. It was for the Aztec, in fact, 
" meat, drink, clothing and writing material," and is 
to-day the most useful plant in the Republic. To se- 
cure the sap, the stem is cut off and hollowed out, and 
the fluid gathers there and is sucked up by a tube (in 
the mouth of a native) to a certain point, where it 
flows out into a jar or gourd. It is a sort of honey- 
water to the taste, and one or two^ gallons a day may 
be gathered till the plant dies. Each plant may give 
out from a hundred to one hundred and fifty gallons. 
It is allowed to ferment in a cask over night, and then 
is taken to the nearest city and sold next day. Some 
people think pulque spoils in twenty-four hours. To 
my taste it is always spoiled and, whether one day or a 
week old, it has no more charms than a dilution of 
starch water and rotten eggs! But the natives like it, 
and of course get intoxicated on it, as its intoxicating 
properties are well-known. But it is the poor man's 
drink, and I presume hundreds of thousands of quarts 
of it are consumed every day in the season. In the 



402 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

City of Mexico alone it is said one hundred thousand 
pints of pulque are sold every day, and in one province 
(of Hidalgo) the ranches, or haciendas, of maguey are 
valued at $8,000,000. 

The City of Mexico soon fades out of view as a 
dream, but one comes upon the shores of Lake Tex- 
coco and is surprised that it is so far from the great 
city which was once laved by its waters. It is at least 
six miles in a straight line from the city to the lake, 
which means that it has shrunken that much since the 
days of Cortez. Now it is a placid sheet of water, fif- 
teen miles long by nine wide. 

Los Reyes is the first stopping place and Chapingo 
the second; here the railway passes through the mag- 
nificent hacienda of the late ex-President Gonzales, 
where are charming old trees and gorgeously painted 
houses. It is a spot where one would like to stop and 
rest awhile. Texcoco, the present village of that name, 
lies upon the eastern side of the lake of that name, 
twenty miles from the City of Mexico, and is the first 
stop on the railway. It is on the same site as the 
former city, that was so famous in Aztec days when it 
was the rival of Tenochtitlan, being the capital of 
the kingdom of the Texcocons, with whom the Aztecs 
were frequently at war. Texcoco has been called the 
Athens, as Tenochtitlan was the Rome, of Mexico. 
There was more learning and real civilization at Tex- 
coco than in the city of the Montezumas and it had 
as its ruler a greater prince than Montezuma. Mon- 
tezuma was not a learned man, but of average intelli- 
gence, and weak in character. On the contrary, Nez- 
ahualcoyotl (who ruled before Montezuma came on 
the stage of action) was a great man and a grand 
prince. He was a literary genius, he lived magnifi- 
cently and he ruled justly. Doubtless had he reigned 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 403 

later he would have been the friend and ally of Cortez, 
for he was sufficiently enlightened to appreciate the 
great qualities of the Conqueror. After that disas- 
trous retreat from the city, it was the exertions of 
his people — the Texcocans — that again put Cortez on 
his feet; at Texcoco that general reembarked his fleet 
and returned to the recapture of the capital. The 
ruins of Texcoco, consisting of palaces, temples and 
aqueducts, are now a paradise for the antiquarian. 

One likes to read what Nezahualcoyotl composed 
in poetical form; it breathes of true Arab poetry rather 
than Mexican. It is like a volume of Marcus Aurelius 
put in verse. " Banish care," he said; '' if there are 
bounds to pleasure, the saddest Hfe must also- have an 
end. Then w-eave the chaplet of flowers, and sing thy 
songs in praise of the all-powerful God; for the glory 
of this world soon fadeth away. Rejoice in the green 
freshness of the spring; for the day will come when 
thou shalt sigh for these joys in vain; when the sceptre 
shall pass from thy hands, thy servants shall wander 
desolate in thy courts, thy sons and the sons of thy 
nobles shall drink the dregs of distress, and all the 
pomp of thy victories and thy triumphs shall live only 
in their recollection. Yet the remembrance of the 
just shall not pass away from the nations, and the good 
thou hast done shall ever be held in honor. The goods 
of this life, its g'lories and its riches, are but lent to us, 
its substance is but an illusory shadow, and the things 
of to-day shall change on the coming of the morrow. 
Then gather the fairest flowers from thy gardens, to 
bind round thy brow, and seize the joys of the present 
ere they perish." 

What wiser words did " Rome's best pagan " write 
than these? It is here put in prose, but it is a poem. 



404 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

And this is an extract from his poem on " The Muta- 
bility of Life :" 

"Now would I sing, since time and place 

Are mine, — and oh! with thee 
May this my song obtain the grace 

My purpose claims for me. 
I wake these notes on song intent, 
But call it rather a lament; 
Do thou, beloved, now delight 
In these my flowers, pure and bright, 

Rejoicing with thy friend; 
Now let us banish pain and fear. 
For if our joys are measured here 

Life's sadness hath its end. 



'Brave Moctezuma's Indian band 

Was Mexico the great, 
And Netzahualcoyotl's hand 

Blessed Culhuacan's state. 
While Totoquil his portion drew 
In Acatlapan, strong and true; 
But no oblivion can I fear 
Of good by thee accomplished here, 

Whilst high upon thy throne; 
That station, which, to match thy worth. 
Was given by the Lord of Earth, 

Maker of good alone. 



"What has become of Cihuapan, 

Quantzintecomtzin brave. 
And Conahuatzin, mighty man; 

Where are they? In the grave! 
Their names remain, but they are fled. 
Forever numbered with the dead. 
Would that those now in friendship bound. 
We whom Love's thread encircles round. 

Death's cruel edge might see! 
Since good on earth is insecure, 
And all things must a change endure 
In dark futurity." 

Not much hope here; not a great deal of light; but 
a groping after the future as the best of the old Greeks 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 405 

groped for it, and a genuine, heroic submissiveness to 
Fate. Above all some recognition of the *' Lord of 
Earth " who is '' Maker of good alone!" 

On the whole, probably the finest character, cer- 
tainly the most enlightened ruler, who ever sat upon 
the throne in either North or South America, was this 
Nezahualcoyotl, and if his royal pile of buildings 
seems to have been of fabulous extent and richness, and 
his literary genius of too high an order to be believed in 
— though there are abundant proofs of the latter — it 
is certain his last days were spent in plenty, in peace, 
and in honor. He died at the age of seventy-two, 
about 1474, nearly fifty years before Cortez reached 
New Spain: a prince ''wise, valiant, liberal," and who 
was a firm believer in *'one God only, the Creator of 
heaven and earth." His son, NezahualpilH, succeeded 
him, and he died in 151 5, at the age of fifty-two, also 
before the Spaniards reached that land. 

That there were in those days men and women of 
heart as well as of courage, of faith as well as of pa- 
triotism, of the tenderest of virtues as well as of hard 
and cruel deeds, let this brief extract from a recovered 
letter from an Aztec mother to her daughter bear wit- 
ness ; written, probably, in the time when, if not in the 
place where, Nezahualcoyotl and his gifted son were 
reigning: " My beloved daughter, very dear little dove, 
you have already heard and attended to words which 
your father has told you. They are precious words and 
such as are rarely spoken or listened to. . . . God 
who is in every place sees you. . . . My dear 
daughter, whom I tenderly love, see that you live in 
the world in peace, tranquillity, and contentment all 
the days that you shall live. . . . See that you 
honor me and your father, and reflect glory on us by 
your good life. May God prosper you, my firstborn, 



406 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

and may you come to God, who is in every place." 
This is nearing to the heart of a saint. Where else in 
pagan lands shall we find a better example of fihal and 
Christian womanhood? 

Now we go almost north to avoid the foothills, 
but we are climbing up, and soon Mexico City is to be 
seen, forty miles away to the southwest, and to the 
north the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon, the larger 
one hundred and eighty feet high, whose ages no 
3ne can even guess. Then Otumba, where Cor- 
tez in 1520 had one of his mighty battles and killed — 
it is said — twenty thousand Indian warriors. Present- 
ly we are nine thousand feet above the sea, and then 
we pass by sides of mountains, through cafions, till we 
come to a lovely valley, San Martin, with sparkling 
water and woodlands. It looks like a prosperous re- 
gion, wholly unlike the arid plains crossed by the Mex- 
ican Central when approaching Mexico City from 
Orizaba. After a while, in nearing Puebla, with Po- 
pocatepetl always ahead or to the right, there springs up 
before the vision the mighty pyramid-hill, wholly arti- 
ficial as is believed, of Cholula; then Puebla, "the 
City of the Angels." 

Puebla is an intensely busy city and one thorough- 
ly Mexican in its surroundings. It is up-to-date in 
many things, yet just outside of it are villages, like 
Cholula, that must be, to-day, much as they were fifty 
years after the Spaniards came into possession of Mex- 
ico ; for while the mud houses are gone, the people are 
lazy, given over to smallpox and unsanitariness, and 
antiquated in everything. Puebla is rich in trade and 
in churches. I saw there one church which is, all things 
considered, as rich in gold and mosaics as any edifice 
I ever entered, not even excepting St. Mark's in Ven- 
ice. I refer to the Church of Santo Domingo, whose 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 407 

recently completed chapel in white and gold is worth a 
journey of hundreds of miles to see; it ought to be 
called '* La superba." Puebla's streets are fairly wide 
and clean, it has pretty parks, plazas and fountains, 
and its onyx stores excel those of any part of Mexico. 
The Cathedral impressed me wonderfully: it is not so 
large, but is richer within than that of the City of Mex- 
ico. Puebla did not exist in Aztec days ; it was founded 
by Spaniards in 1532 and has seen many of the vicissi- 
tudes of war. General Iturbide captured it in 182 1, 
General Scott in 1843, Zaragoza had a victory there in 
1862, the French took it in 1863, and General Diaz 
won a great battle over the French at this point in 
1867. 

The view from the hill of .Guadalupe, near, is one 
of surprising beauty, but pretty much the same scene 
may be had from anywhere in the outskirts, for Pueb- 
la is in the midst of an extended plain, from which 
four great mountains are always visible. Its atmos- 
phere is as clear as crystal in all but the rainy season, 
and besides the two great volcanic peaks of which I 
have often spoken, both seen from Puebla better than 
from any other site, there loom up Orizaba in the east 
and mighty Malintzi in the north, though neither of 
them is as high as Popocatepetl; and there are lesser 
hills everywhere. 

To reach Cholula one takes a ride in horse-cars 
across the Atoyac valley, a distance of eight miles. 
Our little party chartered a special car, and the mules 
before it trotted as slovvdy as if they had all the day in 
which to perform the journey. The only sights 
worth looking at en route were the never-varying ones 
of the two snow-covered peaks and their associates, 
and the Indians, chiefly women, coming to town on 
foot, with marketable commodities in baskets on their 



408 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

heads, or strapped to their shoulders. Often they had 
babies on their backs, the little heads peering out from 
the same kind of a basket, or from some baggy sub- 
stance that preserved them from falling out. These 
women invariably were bareheaded and barefooted, and 
had a gait between a walk and a run; a quick trot, in 
fact. They never went slowly, rarely looked to right 
or left, and even less rarely smiled. An earnest, sad, 
burden-bearing people! - 

Long before reaching Cholula, and before any 
town is visible, one sees the high pyramidal mound, or 
hill, as it would be taken to be. by any stranger, rising 
up out of the plain. It is not the only elevation, for, 
in fact, there are two other mounds, known as the Cer- 
ro de Acozac and the Gerro de la Cruz, but these are 
much less conspicuous. Of the latter, the first-named 
is forty-nine feet high and fifty-five by one hundred 
and fifty at the base, while the second-named is forty- 
four feet high and has a base of twelve hundred and 
thirty feet in circumference (an average of over three 
hundred feet square) and a top surface of four hundred 
and sixty feet in circumference. These cerros are 
built of adobe (sun-dried) bricks. On the Cerro de la 
Cruz, Cortez is said to have caused to be performed 
the first mass in Mexico; more likely the first mass in 
this portion of Mexico, for mass was, no doubt, said at 
Vera Cruz after he landed. Both these cerros, how- 
ever, are slight in comparison with the main mound, 
which rises one hundred and seventy-seven feet above 
the plain, and has base-lines of more than a thousand 
feet on three of its four irregular sides, or much 
longer each way than the Great Pyramid of Cheops. 
The fourth side is eight hundred and thirty-three feet 
long. 

No one now looking at this mound from a dis- 



TO PIJEBLA AND THE SEA 400 

tance would imagine it to be wholly the work of hu- 
man hands. There is a grave doubt, indeed, whether 
some natural elevation was not its true base. How- 
ever this may be, excavations made — indeed, the eye 
at close range can distinguish the fact as one ascends 
the winding, steep and paved roadway to the top — 
show that it was constructed for the most part by hu- 
man hands; of adobe bricks, broken limestone, peb- 
bles and lava blocks. Either thousands of men were en- 
gaged on it for many months of time, or a smaller 
number for a long period of years. That it was built 
for religious purposes no one doubts. When the 
Spaniards reached Cholula it stood in height as now, 
its summit crowned with a temple dedicated to Quet- 
zalcoatl, who is believed to have been a real being and 
who stopped at Cholula, when passing from the Aztec 
country to the coast, for twenty years. He is said to 
have taught the Cholulans the mysteries of a high 
civilization and a spiritualized religion. When this 
was no historian has ventured to predict. He was dei- 
fied later; became known as *' the god of the air," and 
was believed by the Mexicans to have been a divinity 
who visited the earth, instructed its people in metals, 
agriculture, the art of government and religion, and 
then to have gone away as mysteriously as he came. 
He is described in legends as '' tall in stature, with a 
white skin, long, dark hair and a flowing beard." He 
is the very one, in fact, whose return was predicted; 
and so when Cortez came the Aztecs more or less be- 
lieved Quetzalcoatl had come back to earth, and the 
horses and cannon of the Conqueror were as signs 
from heaven that the god himself was revisiting the 
country. Some believe that this idea struck such terror 
into the hearts of Montezuma's people that they never 
sufficiently recovered from it to retain their full cour- 

26 



410 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

age and their independence. In any event, this tem- 
ple to Quetzalcoatl was in full operation on this Cho- 
lulan mound when Cortez was here in 15 19, and Cho- 
lula had been built up as a vast city around it, but that 
had also scores of smaller temples. 

The city probably had anywhere from seventy-five 
thousand to one hundred and fifty thousand souls, and 
it was the most flourishing- centre of the arts of Mexi- 
co. Chapter VI in Book III of Prescott's '' Mexico " 
may portray it in too glowing colors, but, after due 
reservations, it is clear that Cholula was great and 
prosperous, with adobe houses, of course, and an 
abundance of inferior temples, but with an intelligent, 
indeed superior, population, who excelled in the arts 
and especially in pottery, and whose temple to Quet- 
zalcoatl was as the temple of Jerusalem to the ancient 
Israelites, the spot for all members of all " the tribes 
of Anahuac " to gather together as occasion permitted. 
It was a holier city than Tenochtitlan. Unfortunately, 
whether Quetzalcoatl taught human sacrifices or not 
(and some believe he did not), his temple was stained 
by his followers with human blood, and every year 
thousands of victims, captives from other tribes per- 
haps, were there offered up to appease the vengeance 
of the god. What scenes transpired on this hill dur- 
ing the centuries preceding the Conquest no man can 
guess at, nor language begin to portray. " Undy- 
ing fires," strange ofiferings to '' The Fair God " and 
to other gods, curious apparels, an abundance of gold, 
silver and jewels: there is nothing in human annals 
from the time of the earliest Egyptian priests to the 
latest of Buddhist worshipers that could have been 
more singular or more thoroughly pagan. Yet in the 
performances on this man-made mound during the 
Olmec (or Toltec) and Aztec periods of history, in 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 411 

years ranging, perhaps, from the Seventh to the early 
part of the Sixteenth Century, there were real gropings 
after the light of heaven. , 

The perfidy of the Cholulans, the punishment of it 
by Cortez, his destruction of the temple and the re- 
building on its site of one dedicated to the Christian 
religion, are all matters well-known in history, and 
make as interesting a chapter as any in all that con- 
cerns the Spanish Conquest of Mexico. To-day on 
this great mound a church, erected later than the days 
of Cortez, to supplant the smaller one he constructed, 
is visible from everywhere over the plain. At its foot 
stands the present City of Cholula, having but five 
thousand inhabitants. To the mound I went first, and 
with intense interest. I desired to stand on that ven- 
erable pile, and from it to have the same view of Popo- 
catepetl and Ixtaccihuatl that the Conqueror had in 
his day, and that Quetzalcoatl had, long, long years be- 
fore. 

The winding way up is steep, often embracing 
steps of stone, but, when the top is reached, a grand 
view is outspread. It is a finer general view than any 
from Puebla. Ixtaccihautl, especially, shows why it is 
called "the white woman;" the profile of a woman, 
sleeping, with her long hair (of pure white snow) 
trailing behind her, may be quite based on an imag- 
inative vision, but everyone can see it and feel thrilled 
by it. The more one gazes the more natural it be- 
comes. How profound that sleep appears — the sleep 
of untold centuries. The church at the top had not a 
mortal in it save some friends and myself, and one wo- 
man to show its chief features. It is called the Church 
of Nuestra Senora de los Remedios. It has two towers 
and a dome; rather grand in exterior, but disappoint- 
ing in the interior. I doubt if it has any considerable 



412 BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 

number of worshipers, except on fete days. An image 
of the Virgin, from whom the church is named, is 
carefully preserved at the altar, and it is said to have 
been one left by Cortez himself. An Indian priest cele- 
brates mass on the spot where his ancestors cele- 
brated, by fire and other rites, to the mystic Quetzal- 
coatl, but I did not see him. Except the woman, there 
were omthe mound only two or three boys, who were 
importunate for small coins, one of whom evidently had 
the smallpox and was pointed out by his companions 
as an object for us to beware of! I learned that Cholu- 
la was a hive of diseases, especially of smallpox, and, 
in fact, this made us hasten away from it before we 
visited any other of its lone churches. In the large 
square of the village there was little apparent business 
going on, but it may have been because it was in the 
middle of the day, though the sun was not hot, as we 
were over seven thousand feet above sea-level. 

At Puebla a guide was taken into the employ of 
our Httle party who' proved the most adept juvenile 
guide that ever came to my notice. He was about 
thirteen years of age; a native, that is, descended from 
a mixture of Spanish and Mexican ancestry. He was 
almost a Tom Thumb in size and as bright as a new 
silver dollar. He spoke English readily; in fact, of- 
fered his services in such a manly sort of fashion that 
I decided he must have a trial. He was good at driv- 
ing bargains with merchants, in engaging carriages, 
in showing off the churches, and in warning us against 
impostors. What he did not know he soon learned, 
for our benefit. He was determined to take up the 
profession of a doctor, and was going to start the next 
week for Zacatecas, or some other city north of the 
City of Mexico, with a physician of Puebla, to be his 



TO PUEBLA AND THE SEA 413 

helper and learner. I predict this boy will, if he lives, 
make his mark in the Republic. 

The hotel at Puebla, the " Grand," was comparative- 
ly new, wholly clean, and more up-to-date than any 
hotel we had seen in Mexico, except at Orizaba. 

The railway ride from this point to the sea occu- 
pied nearly all of one day; it was continued by the In- 
teroceanic. After skirting the Malintzi mountain, and 
having- grand views of the four large peaks of the 
neighborhood, the railway made a number of horse- 
shoe bends as it dropped down to Perote and on to 
Jalapa. For miles near the spur of the Cofre de Perote 
the route is across an old lava bed, that has been tossed 
hither and yon by volcanic action like the waves of the 
sea. Blackened scoriae and cinders testified to the 
heat of the ancient crater, no vestige of which yet re- 
mains on the top of this once greatest of the volcanoes 
of New Spain. A drear and desolate region; but then 
there are views, near and far, of forests, rocks, chalk- 
faced mountains and fields wild and under cultivation, 
which attract intense interest every minute of the time. 
Few railway rides in the world are more interesting 
than that from Puebla to Jalapa. 

Jalapa I am sorry not to have visited, as it was an 
old town before the Conquest, and the only remaining 
place of size and consequence, important in Cortez's 
day, which is still standing between the City of Mexico 
and the sea. It is said to be a place of mists, being 
midway between the warm, tropical sea and the cool 
plateau of interior Mexico, but " when the sun shines," 
says the brightest of modern guide-books on this sun- 
ny land, " than Jalapa there is not a brighter spot on 
earth, nor one more quaintly curious, nor yet any oth- 
er more charmingly fair." 

After Jalapa there came m^re loops again, and 



414 



BRIGHT DAYS IN SUNNY LANDS 



descents to and through the valley. Afterward tropi- 
cal vegetation reappears, and at last, down by San 
Francisco, are thatched houses, hot sun and deep 
shade, illy-clad natives, straggling, ugly villages, and 
all the other signs of ** the hot lands," with vines, 
palms, cofifee plantations, luxuriant brakes and tall 
grasses. Sand drifts appear, then the breezes from, the 
sea, and lo! the sea itself: the same on which the fleet 
of Cortez came to see and to conquer, and by which one 
returns via the Yucatan coast and Havana to his own 
native land. 




APPENDIX 



APPENDIX. 



VARIANT SPELLINGS OF PROPER NAMES 
AND PLACES. 

Spellings of the same proper name, whether of per- 
son, place, or title, will sometimes be found to vary in 
this work, as in most books covering travel in different 
countries. Custom decrees some differences; lan- 
guage more. Take the case of Cordoba in Spain, and 
the city of the same name in Mexico. In both in- 
stances, while Spanish writers use the same word, the 
English do not. With English-speaking people it is 
Cordova, when it refers to the Spanish city, but every- 
body uses Cordoba in respect to the Mexican city. In 
this, and other similar cases, local custom has been fol- 
lowed in this volume as a rule, but sometimes not. 
Thus " Pedro," " Pietro," and " Peter " have all been 
used; so " Margherita," "Marguerite" and "Mar- 
garet." 

Perhaps the use of the prefix " Saint " varies in its 
use by authors more than any other prefix. It is "San," 
" Santo," " Santa," " Sainte," (the feminine form, 
which is rare), and may be abbreviated " S," " St.," or 
"Ste.," according to usage. Thus, " St. Catherine " 
would look strange as " San Catherine," and " Santa 
Chiara " as " St. Chiara." Should all these variations 
be given in the preceding pages, it only goes to prove 
how much a uniform method of spelling or abbrevia- 
ting the same word in English and other languages is 
desirable. Perhaps by another half-century uniformity, 
even in the compounding of words (now without any 
good rule), will be the practice, and not the exception. 



418 APPENDIX 

11. 

FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE PASSION 
PLAY OF 1900. 

As some of our readers will, most probably, go to 
see the Passion Play of 1910, a few particulars not giv- 
en in the Chapter upon " The Passion Play of 1900 " 
may prove of more than passing interest. 

In 1900 the Passion Play was performed at Ober- 
ammergau on every Sunday between May 24 and Sep- 
tember 30, inclusive, and on occasional other pre-ar- 
ranged days. It was only repeated upon Monday when 
the audience on the preceding day was considerably 
larger than could be seated. Nobody was admitted 
beyond the actual capacity of the seats, which numbered 
about four thousand. As the greatest influx of visitors 
is, always, from the middle of July to the beginning of 
September, it is advisable to go to Oberammergau 
during the first six weeks of the performance, if it be 
possible. Otherwise tickets should be secured a month 
in advance. 

The allotment of tickets is somewhat peculiar. 
Every householder in town receives as many tickets as 
he has beds in his house. This is to ensure tickets for 
all who lodge at private houses. Only tickets not dis- 
posed of in this manner can be purchased at the Woh- 
nungs-Bureau, or at the theatre. Letters addressed to 
the Bureau named will always receive a reply, if a pos- 
tage stamp be enclosed. The universal imposition, 
elsewhere practiced, of speculators buying up tickets 
and reseHingthem at increased prices, is not permitted. 
In 1900 the Community of Oberammergau burdened 
themselves in advance with the risk of about 400,000 
marks, necessary expenses for the erection of a new 
theatre, for costumes, etc., and if there was any sur- 



APPENDIX 419 

plus in the treasury at the close of the season, it went 
for the improvement of the town, and not to individ- 
uals. 

All seats in the theatre were good, but those in the 
centre were the most expensive, being ten marks; the 
other places varied in price from two to eight marks, 
according to location. The seats for two marks were 
close against the stage and were not to be recom- 
mended. The Auditorium was covered at the top, but 
open at the sides. 

In 1900 there were about 3,200 beds and 300 sofas 
at the disposal of visitors in the town; while another 
1,500 people could be accommodated upon straw mat- 
tresses on the floor. Every bed was let out, the towns- 
people themselves sleeping at night in their attics, or 
in hay-lofts. When the accommodations of Oberam- 
mergau were exhausted, visitors were sent toUnteram- 
mergau, which is two and one-half miles from Ober- 
ammergau, where one thousand people could find ac- 
commodation in very plain houses. 

There are about two hundred dwellings in Ober- 
ammergau. The place is sustained, in small part, by 
the farms of the valley, but chiefly by carvings in 
wood and other small industries by which souvenirs 
are made to be sold in Munich and elsewhere. There 
were twelve permanent hotels and inns in 1900, beside 
about as many temporarily licensed places. 

The railway fare from Munich to Oberammergau 
and return was 24 marks, on express trains, and 22.30 
marks on slow trains. This for first-class. But nearly 
everyone traveled second-class, which was comforta- 
ble, and the cost for that was 15.30 marks for the round 
journey, on express trains, and 7.70 marks on slow 
trains. The journey each way is made in from 3J to 
4j hours. j 



420 APPENDIX 

Oberammergau was a Celtic settlement in the time 
of the Romans, being a station on their military road 
from Verona to Augsburg. The town has special 
rights and liberties, granted them in early times, and 
confirmed by King Ludwig in 1330. From the latter 
date until 1633 it was one of the most prosperous 
small places in Germany. Then came the Plague, 
which has been spoken of on page 2']']. The French 
bombarded the place in 1800. \Vood-carving is said 
to have been an industry in Oberammergau since the 
year mi, and as early as the Seventeenth Century the 
work of Oberammergau carvers- was sold at special 
agencies in Bremen, Hamburg, Amsterdam, Gronin- 
gen, Trondhjem, Copenhagen, St. Petersburg, Mos- 
cow, Cadiz and Lima. In a town population of less 
than one thousand, about two hundred are wood-carv- 
ers. 

The oldest existing text of the Passion Play is for 
the year 1662, the original manuscript of which is in 
the possession of Mr. George Lang, the chief inn- 
keeper of the village. 

" Two years before the actual performance of the 
Plays," says Mr. Lang in his '' Guide," "a Passion Play 
committee is selected. This committee is formed of 
the then mem.bers of the Community Council, the par- 
ish priest and six additional citizens, who are especially 
chosen, either because they have rendered great ser- 
vice in previous plays, or on account of their excep- 
tional practical knowledge. As the Plays are an un- 
dertaking by the community, the acting Burgomaster 
is always president of the committee. The committee 
has charge of all preparations for the Play, such as 
negotiations with the government, arranging the fi- 
nancial matters, the erection of the necessar}^ build- 
ings, and, most important, the selection of the various 



APPENDIX 421 

representatives of the characters. The latter is a very 
difficult and responsible task, for frequently the Com- 
munity is obliged, on account of advanced age of the 
performers, to take from them roles which they have 
filled acceptably and skilfully for years. The decisions 
are accepted graciously, although the pride of a life- 
time is taken from them. At the same time important 
characters and parts must be entrusted to fresh talent, 
whose capabilities remain to be proven. It is, there- 
fore, necessary to exercise the greatest care in the se- 
lection, and profound secrecy is laid upon the mem- 
bers of the committee as to their consultations. Each 
member delivers to the committee a written and 
sealed proposal for the appointments to be filled. After 
an elaborate discussion of the various propositions 
made, a secret ballot is taken. The result of this bal- 
lot is then brought before the Council for discussion, 
and a second ballot is taken. This constitutes the pre- 
liminary election. After an interval of a few days, a 
date for the final election is fixed. On that day the 
members of the committee attend a special divine ser- 
vice and then assemble in the Council House for the 
decisive election. Once again the result of the pre- 
liminary election is briefly discussed, after which the 
final vote is given. With feverish interest the entire 
population await the announcement of the results of 
the election, which brings to some unexpected honor, 
to others bitter disappointment. The election requires 
in all about two weeks of hard, unremitting work, and 
all breathe more freely after it is over." 

The number of participants in the Play varies from 
nine hundred to one thousand; of these one hundred 
and ten have speaking parts; over four hundred adults 
are employed in street scenes and tableaux, and also 
about two hundred and fifty youths and children. 



422 APPENDIX 

There are thirty-four singers, thirty-eight musicians, 
seventy cashiers, ticket sellers and ushers, and fifty 
form a fire guard. In 1850 Tobias Flunger was the 
Christus; in i860, one Schauer; in 187 1, 1880 and 1890, 
Joseph Mayr; and in 1900 Anton Lang. Anton Lang 
is a potter, a native, who has also worked at his trade 
in Munich and Stuttgart. His life has been blameless 
and he has a liking both for Art and the study of 
books. Anna Flunger, who was the Mary of 1900, is 
the granddaughter of the Tobias Flunger above men- 
tioned. Her aunt, Franciska Flunger, was the Mary 
of 1 87 1, whose interpretation of the role is remem- 
bered as ideal. Thomas Rendl, wood-carver, who act- 
ed as Pilate in 1890, was Peter in 1900, and was mas- 
terly in that part. Peter Rendl, also wood-carver, was 
the John both of 1890 and 1900. Johan Zwink, painter, 
was the Judas of both occasions. 

In 1871, 1872, and again in 1873, large sums of 
money were offered by enterprising agents in Ger- 
many, America and England to have the Passion Play 
produced elsewhere, but the villagers, " considered the 
Play in the light of a precious heirloom and its per- 
formance a labor of love," and so refused even to lis- 
ten to the tempters. 



INDEX TO PROPER NAMES. 



Abelard, 213 

Acragas, 166, 172 

Aeschylus, 149, 175 

Aesculapius, Temple of, 169 

Aetna, Mount, 172, 176, 177 

Agnello, Doge, 252 

Albany, Duke of, 106 

Albrecht, Joseph, 283 

Alcazar, (Seville), 55 

Alexandra, Queen, 324 

Alfonso the Wise, 51 

Alfonso XII., 321 

-Alfonso XIII., 70, 94, 321 

Algeciras, 15 

Alhambra, 26, 220 

Almodovar del Rio, 62 

Al-Motanio, King, 56 

-Altinum, 243, 246, 250 

Alunno, Niccolo, 221 

Ami an o, 248 

.Anahuac, 384, 410 

Anapo, 147-15S 

Andalusian dances, 72 

Andromachus, 176 

Angelico, Fra, 76, 77 

Angelo, Michael, 202 

Anne, Queen, 314 

Apennines, 222 

Apollodorus, 154 

Appius Claudius, 197 

,Aquileia, 246, 250 

-Auerbach, 106 

Augusta, Empress, 308, 309 

Archimedes, 159 

Arethusa, fountain of, 148, 161 

Arezzo, 180 

Arnold, Edwin, 242 

.Assisi: approach to, 200; San 
Francisco, 208; hotel "Subas- 
io," 206; tomb of St. Francis, 
207; Giotto's frescoes, 209; 
Cimabue's Madonna, 208; 
chapel of San Damiano, 210; 
Santa Chiara, 210; St. Fran- 
cis, passim; cathedral of S. 
Rufino, 216; Carceri, 216; 
Church of St. Mary of the An- 
gels, 217; the Portiuncula, 217 

Atoyac, 407 

Attila, 249 

Azores, 11 

Aztecs, 355 and passim 

Axayacatl, 364 

Barcelona, 97 
Bartolo, 232 
Bazaine, Marshal, 109 
Beatrice, Queen, 51 
Bellini, 175 



Benedict, St., 281 
Ben Oyah, 65 
Bernardino, Juan, 394 
Bernardino, St., 232 
Bernardone, Francis (See St. 

Francis) 
Bevagna, 221 
Blanco, 51 
Blanco (river), 346 
Blanc, Louis, loiS 
Boabdil, 30, 32 
Bonfaddio, 127 
Boniface, St., 280 
Booth, Edwin, 301 
Bordighera, 124 
Borghetta, 201, 202 
Brougham, Lord, 105 
Browning, Mrs., 235 
Browning, Robert, 272 
Byron, Lord, 128, 202, 275 
Bucentaur, 263 
Buckingham Palace, 314 
Bull-fights: bulls for, 43; at 

Madrid, 79; in Mexico City, 

Buonaventura, 212 
Burano, 247, 253, 273 
Byrne, Mrs. Pitt, 92 
Byzantium, 245 

Caesar, Augustus, 115, 124, 158, 
184, 185, 187, 188, 224, 263 

Caesar, Julius, 46, 50, 54, 157, 
188, 190, 245 

Caltanissetta, 173 

Camicus, Mons, 171 

Campana, 50 

Campanile (Torcello), 256 

Campbell, Reau, 357 

Cannes, 104 

Cappella Palatina, 133 

Carrara, 128 

Carlos, Don, 94 

Carlotta, Empress, 383 

Castaneda, 366 

Castelar, 181 

Castor and Pollux, temple of, 

Castrogiovanni, 173 
Catacombs of Palermo, 141 
Catania, 172, 174 
Catherine, St., 238 
Catherine the Great, 306 
Cato, 189 

Cervantes, 48, 74, 95 
Chalco', Lake, 397 
Chapingo, 402 
Chapultepec, 370, 383 
Charlemagne, 262 



424 



INDEX 



Charles III., 93, 107, 336 

Charles IV., 383 

Charles V., 29, 79, 94 

Chaucer, 127 

Chevalier, Mont, 106 

Chiara, Santa, 209-213 

Cholula, 408 

Churubusco, 384 

Cicero, 127, 149, 155, 159, 161, 
183, 189 

Cimabue, 208 

Cimiez, 112 

Claudian Aqueduct, 199, 204 

Coatzacoalcos, 344 

Columbus, Christopher: men- 
tioned, 39, 41, 382; at Seville, 
47; bones of, 49; tomb of, 52; 
birthplace of, 125 

Columbus, Ferdinand, 52 

Comonfort, 374 

Conco d'Oro, 143 

Constantia, Empress, 137 

Constantine, Prince, 312 

Constantine the Great, 2-19 

Cousin, 106 

Corcordia, 246, 250 

Cordoba, (Mexico), 345 

Cordova, (Spain) : ancient, 63 ; 
hotel " Suisse," 64; bridge at, 
65; mosque, 65 

Corniche Road, 113 

Corona, Juan, 398 

Cortez, 79, 341, 353, 354, 363, 368, 
396, 375, 376, 384, 388, 389, 406, 
408, 411, 414, etc. 

Costanziaco, 248 

Coyoacan, 384, 386, 388 

Crassus, 199 

Crispi, Senor, 142 

Cyane, 151 

Cyprus, Queen of, 207 

Czar of Russia, 307, 323 

Czarina of Russia, 308 

Daisenberger, Joseph, 273, 279, 

281 
Dalmatia, 263 
Dante, 115, 127 
De Amicis, 47, 63, 73, 76 
Dedlar, 273 

Demosthenes, 154, 158 
Diaz, Bernardino, 364, 407 
Diaz, Captain, 377 
Diaz, President, 363, 370, 383, 

Dickens, 127 
Diego, Juan, 394 
Diocletian, Baths of, 182 
Diodorus, 170 
Dionysius, 157 
Dismal Night, 375 
Dittiano, 173 
Domitian, 188 



Drusus, 198 
Dumas, 106 
Duccio, 219 

Edward I., 315 
Edward VII., 153, 323 
Elias, "Brother," 205 
Eliot, George, 102, 302 
Elvira, Queen, 139 
Emmanuel II., 135, 184 
Emmanuel III., 302 
Enna, 173 
Escorial, 90-95 
Esterels, 105 
Ettal, 281, 282 
Euganean Hills, 273 
Euripides, 159, 175 
Eza, 114, 223 

Fabretti, 225 

Feldigl, Ferdinand, 273 

Fefdinand II, 138 

Ferdinand III., 51 

Ferdinand V., 30, 51, 55 

Ferdinand VII., 92, 94 

Fergusson, James, 39 

Fez, 22 

Fiske, John, 357 

Flaminius, 181 

Floating gardens, 396 

Foligno, 201, 221 

Foscari, Doge, 260; Jacobi, 36c 

Fra Angelico, 232 

Francia, 219 

Francis I., 109 

Francis, St., 200-218, 240 

Frederick II., 137 

Frederick III, 137 

Fredi, 232 

Gaja, Fountain of, 233: 

Garibaldi, 184, 302 

Genoa, 125, 245 

George I., 311 

Gibraltar, 11, 14-16 

Gibson, 196 

Giotto, 208, 209, 212, 234 

Giralda, (Seville), 53 

Girgenti, 164-172 

Gladstone, 309 

Gonzales, 402 

Goya, 50 

Granada: bull-circus, 24; Ala- 
meda, 24; hotel " Washington 
Irving," 26; Alhambra, 26; 
Cathedral, 38; Carthusian con- 
vent, 40; Columbus at, 41 

Grant, General, 371 

Grasshopper, Hill of, 382, 385 

Green, John Richard, 123 

Gregory XL, 239 

Gregory XIII., 305 

Guadalquiver, 44, 47, 48, 63 



INDEX 



425 



Guadalupe, (Puebla), 407 

Guadalupe-Hidalgo: view from, 
356; history, 390; Capella de' 
Cerrito, 392; Stone Sails of 
Guadalupe, 392; version of 
painting of '" Our Lady of 
Guadalupe," 394; church of, 

^393 

Guatemotzin, 382 

Guiscard, Duke Robert, 134, 139 

Gylippus, 149 

Hague, the, 309, 310 

Hannibal, 123, 181 

Hare, Augustus J. C, 233 

Harte, Bret, 44 

Havana: Morro Castle, 329, 335; 
hotels, 330; street life, 331; 
Obispo street, 332; Prado, 333; 
carnival, 333; Mercedes 

church, 334; Parque Colon, 
335; Cabanas fortress, 335; 
President's residence, 336; 
carriage hire, 336; sugar plan- 
tation, 337; cemetery, 337; 
charities, 338 

Hawthorne, 183, 234 

Hay, John, 26 

Heloise, 213 

Henry VI., ^37 

Heraclea, 246, 250, 260 

Herrera, 50, 74, 02 

Hidalgo, 366, 383 

Hiero II., 151 

Hispalis, 45 

Homer, 155 

Honorat, St., 109 

Horace, 198 

Hortensius, 189 

Hoy/ells, 235 

Huitzilopochtli, 365, 372, 384 

Humbert, King, 184, 301 

Humboldt, 383, 386 

Hunt, Leigh, 128 

Hyeres, 103, 104 

Ictinus, 167 

Innocent III., 210 

Inquisition, 367 

Irving, Washington, 26, 2j, 30, 

36 
Isabella, Queen, 30, 32, 39, 41, 

55 
Isle of Wight, 314 
I stria, 273 
Italica, 54 

Iturbide, 366, 395, 407 
Ixtaccihuatl, 384, 400 

Jalapa, 413 

Janvier, Thos. A., 357 
Jerez, Gate of, 50 
Joy in the Water, 340 



Juarez, 373, 383 
Julius II., 191 
Juturna, Springs of, 188 

Katane, 174 
Keats, 196 

Kensington Palace, 314 
Kofel, 280, 285 
Krasnoe Selo, 307 

Laeken, 500 

Lagoons, 245 

La Marina, 388 

Lang, Anton, 283 

Lang, George, 283 

Lee, Fitzhugh, 337 

Leo XIII., 102, 194, 214, 318 

Leopold II., 299 

Lercara, 165 

Lido, 245, 264 

Livy, 173 

Lorenzetti, 232 

Lo Spagna, 219 

Los Reyes, 402 

Los Seises, dance of, 59 

Loubet, Emile, 322 

Louis I., 94 

Louis XIV., 107 

Lucon the Stoic, 63 

Ludwig II., 280, 282 

Luther, 185 

Lyte, Henry F., 112 

Macrnillan, Rev. Dr., 115 

Madrid: description of, 70; 
Puerta del Sol, 73; soldiers at, 
73; arbor day in, 71; cathedral 
of Neustra Senora de la Al- 
mudena, 74; church of San 
Francisco the Grand, 74; 
noted burial places, 74; hotel 
"de la Paz," 74; royal palace, 
75; Prado gallery, 75; armory, 
79; bull-fight in, 79 

Maguey plant, 401 

Malamocco, 262 

Malintzi, 407, 413 

Manetti, 232 

Man in the Iron Mask, 106 

Maragino, 376 

Marc Antony, 189 

Marcian, St., 161 

Marco Polo, 127, 270 

Marcus Aurelius, 383 

Marcus Curtius, 188 

Margherita, Queen, 301 

Marianao, 337 

Marina, La, 388 

Marquerite, Ste., 106 

Martini, 219 

Massillon, 104 

Mattioli, 107 

Maximillian, Emperor, 372 



426 



INDEX 



Mayr, Joseph, 288, 295 

Mentone, 121 

Messina, 172 

Memmi, 232 

Mestre, 259, 2J2, 

Meteors, 371 

Mexico, guide-books to, 357 

Mexico City: approach, 355, 357; 
Lake Texcoco, 356; builders 
of> 357; guide-books to, 357; 
first impressions, 359; popula- 
tion, 359; cabs in, 360; hotels, 
360; Great Teocalli, 362; cathe- 
dral, 363; National Pawnshop, 
363; Palace of Diaz, 363; San 
Francisco, church, 2,(^2, 368; 
Alameda, 367; hotels "Jardin;" 
"Iturbide," "San Carlos," 368; 
San Hipolito, 369; church of 
Jesvis Nazareno, 369; church of 
Santo Domingo, 369; Nation- 
al Palace, 370; School of 
Mines, 371; Meteoric stones, 
371; Fine Arts school, 371; Na- 
tional Library, 371 ; National 
Museum, 371; Sacrificial stone, 
372; Calendar stone, 372; Jua- 
rez, tomb and fame, 383; "Dis- 
mal Night" tree, 375; Do- 
lores cemetery, 376; San Fer- 
nando church, 376; recent ex- 
cavations, 377; Aztecs of to- 
day, 378; National pawnshop, 
378; Sunday bull-fights, 378; 
courting, 379; Chapultepec, 
37o> 383; Military academy, 
387; La Viga Canal, 391; float- 
ing gardens, 396 

Michele, S., 252 

Milan, 247 

Milman, Dean, 295 

Milton, 173; 

Mitla, 355 

Mixcoac, 387 

Mohammed V., 38 

Molo, 177 

Monaco: description of, 116; 
Prince of, 120 

Monreale: situation, 129; cathe- 
dral of, 143 

Monte Carlo, 117 

Montezuma, 383 and passim 

Montpensier, Duke de, 57 

Moon, Pyramid of, 406 

Moors, 19, 35 

Morosini, Doge, 271 

"Moses," of Michael Angelo, 
191 

Murano, 247, 252, 259, 2"]'^, 280 

Murillo, 48, 50, 58, 74, 76, ^^ 

Muzaffer Eddin, 317 

Nahuatl language 378 



Napoleon, 106, 113, 123, 275 

Narni, 201, 202 

Naxos, 177 

Nelson, Lord, 162 

Nera, 202 

Nereis, 157 

Nezahualcoyotl, 403 

Nezahualpilli, 405 

Nice, III 

Nicholas II., 307 

Noll, Arthur H., 357, 374 

Numa, 184 

Oberammergau, 276-297 

Oberau, 280 

Olga, Queen, 311 

On, 185 

Opitergium, 250 

Orizaba: approach to, 340; ho- 

, tel "de France," 347; street 
views, 348; market, 349; Mexi- 
can women, 349; Alameda, 350; 
cathedral, 350; church of San 
Jose de Garcia, 352; Barranca's 
paintings, 352 

Orselo, Doge, 263 

Orso, Doge, 262 

Ortygia, 153, 155, 162 

Osborne, 314 

Osuna, 44 

Otumba, 406 

Ovid, 150, 198 

Padua, 246, 247, 250 

Paganini, 127 

Palace, Madrid, 75 

Palenque, 355 

Palermo: approach to, 128; ho- 
tel "des Palmes," 131; Sici- 
lian carts, 132; Cappella Pala- 
tina, 133; cathedral, 137; S. 
Giovanni degli Fremiti, 138; 
street scenes, 139; exposition, 
141; catacombs, 141; cathedral 
of Monreale, 143; Cortez bur- 
ied at, 390 

Pallavicini, Marchese, 127 

Palma, President, 267, 331, 336 

Panuco, Rio, 344 

Parthenon, 167 

Passion Play of 1900, 276-297 

Patios, Spanish, 45 

Paul, Apostle, 130, 161, 196 

Paulus, Bishop, 250, 255 

Pausaniiis, 149 

Pedro III., 60 

Pegli, 127 

Pellegrino, Monte, 129, 130 

Pepin, King, 262 

Perez, Juan, 41 

Pericles, 167 

Pertinax, Emperor, 116 



INDEX 



427 



Perugia: lights of, 206; situation 
of, 220; hotel "Brufani," 220; 
view from, 220; arch of Augus- 
tus, 224; walls of, 224; cathe- 
dral, 225; Palazzo Publico, 223; 
Perugino's frescoes, 226; Pin- 
acoteca, 22T\ church of San 
Pietro, 228; Etruscan sepul- 
chres, 229 

Perugino, 219, 224, 226, 228 

Peruzzi, 219 

Peter the Cruel, 51, 55, 62 

Petersburg, St., 307 

Petrarch, 115, 127, 180, 274 

Phidias, 154, 168 

Philip II., 70, 90, 94, 79, 366 

Philip III., 94 

PhiHp IV., 94 

Philistis, IS7 

Pillars of Hercules, 11 

Pindar, 154, 166 

Pinos, 42 

Pinturicchio, 219, 237 

Pius X., 274, 321 

Pisano, Giovanni, 234 

Pisano, Niccolo, 237 

Pompey the Great, 183, 184, 190 

Popocatepetl, 384, 400 

Popotla, 375 

Portiunoula, 203, 217 

Prado Gallery (Madrid), 75 

Praxedis, 191 

Praxiteles, 154 

Prescott, 357, 410 

Pudenziana, 191 

Puebla: described, 406; cathe- 
dral of, 406 

Pulque plant, 401 

Pyramid of Cheops, 408 

Pyramid of Cholula, 408 

Pyramids of Sun and Moon, 406 

Pyrrhus, 157 

Quetzalcoatl, 409-411 

Quinito, 87 

Quirinal Palace, Rome, 305 

Racalmuto, 173 

Rachel, 106 

Ragusa, Signor Enrico, 131 

Raphael, 76, 184, 203, 219, 224, 227, 
237 

Remo, San, 116,1 124 

Raynaud, Professor, 188 

Ribera, Marquis Don, 57 

Riviera, French, 103-113 

Robbia, Luca della, 217 

Roger I., 133 

Roger II., 134, 137, 138, 139 

Rogers, Samuel, 160 

Rome: Pincian Hill, 183; Castle 
of St. Angelo, 183; St. Peter's, 
181, 183, 192; Vatican, 183; Jan- 



iculum Hill, 183, 186; gardens 
of Caesar, 184; St. Onofrio, 
184; monument to Garibaldi, 
184; Ghetto, 185; Pompey's 
theatre, 184; Pantheon, 184; 
Column of Marcus Aurelius, 
185 ; Piazza del Popolo, 185 ; 
Luther in, 185; obelisk at, 185; 
Seven Hills of, 186; Colos- 
seum, 186; Forum, 188; Pom- 
pey the Great's statue, 190; An- 
gelo's Moses, 191 ; Church of S. 
Pudenziana, 191; church of S. 
Clement, 191; Pope Leo. 
XIII., 192; Pyramid of Caius 
Cestius, 19s; Keats' grave, 196; 
Shelley's heart, 196; Via Ap- 
pia, 196; Porta Capena, 197; 
Baths of Caracalla, 198; tomb 
of Scipios, 198; arch of Dru- 
sus, 198; catacombs, 198; Cae- 
cilla Metella's tomb, 198 

Romulus, St., 125 

Rosalia, St., 130 

Rossi, Signor, 206 

Roulette, game, 118 

Rubens, 315 

Rurales, the, 387 

Ruskin, 244, 247 

Sacrificial Stone, 372 

San Angel, 387 

San Damiano, 203, 210 

San Francisco, (Assisi), 204 

San Francisco (Mexico), 414 

San Juan de Ulua, 341 

San Martin, 406 

San Remo, 116, 124 

Santa Anita, 398 

Santa Fe, 40 

Santo Stephano, Dukes of, 176 

Sao Miguel, 11 

Sarto, Cardinal, 274 

Scifi, Agnes, 211 

Scipio Africanus, 54, 117, 198 

Scott, General, 343 

Sea, description of, 12, 242 

Seneca, 63 

Seville: approach to, 44; patios 
in, 45; street scenes in, 46 
Columbus at, 47, 49; notable 
artists of, 48; Torre del Ore, 
48; gypsies in, 48; public gar- 
dens of, 29; cathedral, 49; Co 
lumbus, tomb of, 49, 52; Co- 
lumbian Library, 52; Giralda 
S3; Alcazar, 55; tobacco fac 
tory, 56; house of Pilate, 57 
Murillo's house, 58; hotel "de 
Madrid," 58; Los Seises, 59^ 
burial of Cortez in, 390 

Shah of Persia, 317 

Shelley, 128, 162, 195 



428 



INDEX 



Sicilian cart, 132 

Sicily, 129-179 

Siena, 230-241 ; approach to, 230 ; 
hotel "Royal," 231; Palazzo 
Publico, 231; tower of del 
Mangia, 232; Piazza del Cam- 
po, 232; fountain of Gaja, 233; 
cathedral, 233; St. Catherine's 
house, 238; Fine Arts Insti- 
tute, 240 

Sierra de Cordoba, 65 

Sierra de Elvira, 42 

Sierra Morena, 54, 64 

Sierra Nevada, 28 

Silenus, 164, 168 

Smith, F. Hopkinson, 370 

Socrates, 154, 159 

Sodoma, 219, 238, 240 

Soledad, 345 

Sophia, Queen, 310 

Sophocles, 175 

Spoleto, 201 

Southern Cross, 341 

Spain, 23-102; general remarks 
on, 100-102 

Spello, 221 

Spezia, 128 

St. Barbera, Fort, 240 

St. Peter's (Rome), 49, 66, 124 

Staffelsee, 280 

Stanley, Dean, 295 

Starnberg, Lake, 280 

Stone of Scone, 315 

Story, William W., 196 

Strabo, 117 

Subasio, Mount, 203, 216 

Sultan of Morocco. 22 

Sun, Pyramid of, 406 

Symonds, /John Addington, 159, 
196 

Syracuse: fountain of Arethusa, 
148, 161; river Anapo, 148; 
(jrerxt Harbor, 152; hotel "des 
Etrangers," 154; Epipolae, 155; 
Greek theatre, 157; Roman am- 
phitheatre, 158; stone quarries, 
158; street of tombs, 159; 
tomb of Archimedes, 159; cat- 
acombs, 160 

Tacitus, 202 

Tacubaya, 376, 384, 387 

Tampico, 344 

Tangier, 11, 15-22 

Taormina, 164, 165-179 

Tarmina, 165 

Tasso, 184 

Tate Gallery, London, 77 

Tauro, Monte, 175 

Tennyson, 116 

Tenochtitlan, 354. (See Mexico 

City) 
Teocalli, the Great, 362-365, 377 



Teocallis, Aztec, 365 

Tepeyacac, 391, 394 

Terni, 202 

Texcoco, 356, 387, 390, 402 

Thackeray, 14 

Theocritus, 153, 155 

Theodore, St., 262, 270 

Theron, Tomb of, 169 

Thrasymene, Lake, 229 

Thucydides, 155 

Tiepolo, 267 

Titian, 76 

Tlaltelolco, 394 

Tocqueville, de, 106 

Tolsa, 383 

Tonontzin, 392 

Torcello, 242-258 

Trajan, 187 

Trelawny, 128 

Trente-at-Quarante, (game), 119 

Trevi, 2:^2 

Tropez, St., 116 

Turbia, 115 

Turner, 247 

Tuscany, 230 

UrsO', 44 
Uxmal, 355 

Valdes, 50 

Vallambrosa, Duke of, io5 

Van Dyck, 76, 315 

Vanni, 238 

Vedado, 330 

Vega, 36, 40, 220 

Velasquez, 48, 74, 76, 77, 78, 135 

Venice: Castelar on, 181; cem- 
etery of, 252; early settlement, 
246, 261 ; lagoons of, 245 ; first 
Doge of, 262; St. Mark's b dy 
in, 262; conquests of, 263; 
Grand Canal, 265; Bucentaur, 
264; Piazza of San Marco, 269; 
Campanille, fall of, 271 ; fete 
in, 301 ; Grand Canal, 301 

Ventimiglia, 123 

Ventnor, 326 

Verres, 161, 189 

Vera C)ruz, 341 

Veragua, Duke of, 43 

Verona, 247 

Via Appia, 204 

Victor Emmanuel. (See Em- 
manuel). 

Victoria, Queen, 104, 122, 123, 
300, 312 

Viga Canal, 396 

Virgil, 117 

Vitellius, Emperor, 116 

Voltaire, 108 

Wagner, 267 

Walter of the Mill, 137 



mam 



INDEX 



429 



Weiss, Father, zjz 
Wellington, Duke of, 25 
Westminster Abbey, 315 
Wilhelmina, Queen, 309 
William II., 307 
William III., 310, 314 
William IV., 314 
William the Good, 129, 130, 
Windsor Castle, 314, 315 



143 



Winter Palace, St. Petersburg. 
306 

Xenil, 30 
Xochimilco Lake, 397 

Zaragoza, 374, 392, 407 
Zurbaran, 50 
Zv/ink, Johan, 292 



NOV 15 1904 1 



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